


It's getting cold these days

by blue_chocolate, lilaccoffee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Depression, Drunk Sex, Harry in oversized clothing, Infidelity, M/M, Model Zayn, Mutual Pining, Pining, Public Hand Jobs, Rimming, Smoking, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_chocolate/pseuds/blue_chocolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilaccoffee/pseuds/lilaccoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Does Harry always look that sad?"</em>
  <br/>
  <em>"He's been sad since I met him."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry lives in the rugged quarters of London and works at a café. His life has been reduced to attributes: chain-smoker, runaway, depressed, infinitely lonely. His relationship is ripping at the seams, he's short on cash and the newest regular at work won't stop bothering him. Winter has never been colder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been in the works since the late 2013 and was picked up this summer to become a co-written project by us, blue_chocolate and lilaccoffee. We'll warn about eventual triggers in the first author's note of the chapter, but there won't be many. Happy reading :) xx

Niall watched him again. He acted like Harry didn’t see the glances and frowns and always moved far outside Harry’s personal bubble. Despite the pity in his eyes, Harry had grown accustomed to the distance to the point where he found comfort in it. Whether or not Niall was cautious of him or the stench of cigarettes he bore with him, it relaxed him.

Cinnamon and vanilla left traces in the air that hung about even as the door opened. Gravel swam in watery footprints left when costumers entered and when they sat down. Harry had since early forenoon abandoned the counter to mop the floors. The quick task turned everlasting as rush had hour come and new people with new shoes welled in for a coffee.

He switched his grip on the mop. Fresh pools popped up wherever his gaze strayed. Red marks bloomed out over his palm, stinging with each sweep, matching his parched knuckles.

The final pool lay by the feet of a young couple. Before he arrived at the table, they entwined their fingers. They put their hot beverages in danger as they leaned close to each other, lost in wonder, as if this was a love nest and not a workplace.

He dragged himself to the back of the shop. Soft murmuring and clinking cups trickled through gaps in the door. If he stopped listening, the silence of the kitchen embraced him. The loaves had cooled on their trays, as had his tea from this morning. Nick had offered his cuppa when Harry arrived fifteen minutes late with circles like coal under his eyes. Nick always sweetened it too much.

Harry picked the bandana from his back pocket and stepped in front of a tiny mirror in level with his head. Dust had rendered it useless. The upper half still reflected his face. He gathered his hair in a fist, wrapped the fabric around his skull and knotted it. A handful of bangs fell over his eyes.

All seats had emptied when Harry returned. Only the young couple still sipped their coffee. Nick leaned over the counter and gauged them, chin in his palm, head slanted. He perked up when Harry closed the door.

“You fixed your hair,” he said.

Harry reached for the mop. Nick’s fingers curled around his wrist. Cocoa powder stained his skin.

“Niall took care of that,” he said. He cocked his head to the couple. “Want to grab a bagel when those two head out?”

“I won’t have room for dinner,” Harry said.

“There’s also frappé, latte, Irish—“

“Nick.”

The door opened behind them. It missed Harry by an inch. A bad dye-job bared itself before them when Niall stuck his head out.

“I’ll be on my way,” he said. He took Harry’s stare for goodbye and left out the back.

Breaking from deep thought, Nick stepped closer and dipped his fingertips into the corners of Harry’s mouth. He offered a smile.

“Would it matter that much to just…” He twisted Harry’s mouth into a grin without resistance. The wry smile stayed until one of his fingers slipped out. Harry stepped away.

“I’m just tired.”

The creases by Nick’s mouth smoothened out as he nodded. “Okay.”

The evening howled through the café as the door opened. Their heads swerved towards the sound to find a frostbitten man trudging up to the counter. Something warm rushed up Harry’s spine.

“Liam. Boyfriend, right?” Nick said.

Harry nodded. “I’m using my break now.”

On their way towards the back door, Harry fumbled with a cigarette. Liam lagged behind, grasping his thin shirt. Winter breathed goose bumps on their skin and the heat fell away behind them. Harry shot out a plume of smoke and hummed as he leaned over the narrow railing. Snow crunched under his elbows.

Liam pawed his shoulder after another puff. The cigarette fell and fizzled out as Liam pulled him in. Water drops rolled off Liam’s jacket and onto Harry’s bare skin. Their breaths coalesced.

“Hey,” Harry said in an exhale.

Liam’s cold lips pressed to his. Fingertips ghosted over his waist while one hand settled on his cheek.

“How about we go out tonight?” Liam said.

He stayed quiet as he waited for Harry to respond. He watched Harry light the cigarette again and take a puff, his forehead puckering at the smell.

“You’re gonna get cancer,” he said.

Harry shrugged. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

Liam sighed. “So. A date. You up for it?”

“I guess.” Harry shrugged again.

“Come on, H. I haven’t seen you in ages,” Liam urged him, nudging his shoulder.

“My place or yours?” Harry asked. He held the cigarette against his lip, nestled between two fingers. His other hand reached for Liam’s, and he cupped his palm in his, unable to bring himself to intertwine their fingers.

“Yours,” Liam responded, tightening the grip he had on Harry’s hand. “I can’t remember what your place looks like. And I miss Baby.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head. “You always miss my cat more than you miss me.”

Liam said nothing, and Harry felt him tense. He looked up at his boyfriend for the first time, only to find that Liam had settled his gaze on the ground. Harry frowned.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

Liam met his gaze, but Harry could tell that his smile was forced, despite Liam pulling him for a kiss.

“Nothing,” he said. “What time do you want me over?”

“Seven?” Harry suggested. “I’m sure I could get Niall or Nick to cover the last half of my shift. I’ll get some wine.”

“Sounds good,” Liam said. “I should get back to work.”

“Me too.” Harry put his cigarette out against the cool cement of the stairs and straightened his back, popping his shoulders. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Liam kissed him again, his cool palm pressed against Harry’s cheek. Harry pressed into it, but Liam pulled away from him before he could deepen it. Harry was barely affected by it. They hadn’t kissed properly in ages. Liam pulling away didn’t come as much of a surprise.

Harry watched Liam fade out into the distance, mingling with the crowd of people and disappearing from his sight. If it weren’t for the way his lips throbbed from Liam’s kiss, it almost felt like he was never present at all.

Harry flicked his cigarette to the ground and pushed back from the railing. He returned to the café feeling lighter than before, promises from Liam warming the pit of his stomach, creeping up his spine.

Nick was perched at the counter, seemingly innocent, but Harry saw right through his façade. He raised an eyebrow at the magazine Nick was reading, slipping behind the counter to collect his coat. There was a bounce to his step that hadn’t been there before, and it was Nick’s turn to cock his head.

“What’s up with you?” he said.

Harry shrugged on his coat. “I’ve got a date with Liam. I need to go pick up some things.”

“You’re leaving mid shift?” Nick wasn’t impressed. He folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry stepped towards him and laid a hand on his chest.

“You’ll cover for me, won’t you?” he asked.

Nick swallowed, and he nodded. Barely, but it was confirmation.

“Yeah,” he whispered out.

Harry slid his hand down his chest before it dropped back to his side.

“Thank you. Have a good night, Nick,” he said. “Tell Niall I said the same.”

“Enjoy your date!” Nick called after him, but Harry was already out of the door.

He headed down to the corner store to purchase a bottle of wine, scrounging up the money from the extra hours he had put into the café the week before. It was no wonder Liam had come all the way from his job to pay him a visit; they hadn’t spent much time together lately. It concerned Harry how little he noticed their separation, but he supposed it could only be blamed on how busy he had been keeping himself.

The walk back to his apartment chilled him to the core. Cold seeped through his jacket and settled in his bones, nipping at his cheeks and turned his nose red. Despite the lack of heat in his flat, Harry welcomed the place with less distaste to get out of the snow.

Baby was waiting for him by the door. She brushed up against his leg, leaving traces of her black fur stuck to his pants. Harry reached down to pat her on the head, and then he stepped around her to deposit the paper bag containing the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.

His flat only had two rooms, a bathroom and the kitchen, which had a mattress on the floor in which Harry slept. He used to have a bedroom, but the mildew grew too horrid to fix, and when the ceiling collapsed, Harry decided knocking out the walls and pretending the room never existed was much easier than rebuilding. It was cheaper to do as well, and he was always looking for ways to save money.

A quick glance at the stove revealed the time to be just after six thirty, and Harry allowed himself to smile, though it was tight, barely a quirk of the lips. Still, it was something.

The smile dropped off his face the moment he turned around. There, taped to the microwave, was a page long note. Harry recognized Liam’s handwriting straight away, and his stomach sunk. Nothing could was going to come from this. He could tell.

Baby darted through his legs as he plucked the note from the microwave. He skimmed over Liam’s neatly lined block letters, and then he read through the letter again, properly this time, just to make sure he was seeing it right.

 

_Harry,_

_I think somewhere inside of us we both knew this wasn’t going to work out. I’ve been meaning to break it off for a long time, but I could never find the words. I was going to tell you tonight, in person, but I’m too scared. I’m a coward, I know, but you’re worse than me._

_We haven’t had time for each other lately. We’ve grown apart. I’ve fallen out of love. Because I did love you, Harry, at one point. I don’t know exactly when that stopped being present tense, but the feeling hasn’t been there for a long time._

_You can keep whatever stuff I left at your place. I came by earlier to get my things from the drawer, and I fed Baby for you. I know that you forget sometimes. I left the key you gave me on the rack._

_There’s a fresh pack of cigarettes in the cabinet. It’s against my better judgement, but I know how they calm you._

_Don’t do anything stupid tonight._

 

In an angry haze, Harry threw the bottle of wine to the floor. It shattered centimetres from where Baby lay, staining the floor dark red. He tore the letter next and threw the pieces in the air. They landed in the mess of split wine and curled at the edges.

One of Liam’s hoodies lay draped over the kitchen chair, taunting him. Hastily, Harry pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. He didn’t care where it landed. He replaced the top with the hoodie, bringing the fabric up to his nose to breathe it in. Smelling Liam had never hurt so badly before.

Harry curled up on the mattress with the pack of cigarettes Liam bought and the black lighter he kept tucked in the drawer. He lit the first cigarette and lay back against the pillow. His gaze remained locked on the ceiling tiles, distorted from his tears.

Baby curled up on Harry’s feet somewhere between smoking the third and fourth cigarette. Harry pressed his fingertip into her cold velvety nose, scratched behind her ears.

He’d lost track of time. Half the package had disappeared, and a tingly had set in on the left side of Harry’s body. He tried to raise his hand to bring the cigarette to his lips, but he was met with resistance.

“Shit,” Harry mumbled, and he panicked when it took effort to get the words to leave his mouth.

He knew the symptoms. This had only happened once before, when he left home and chain-smoked a whole package of cigarettes and downed a bottle of whiskey. He had felt so out of it then, trembling hands and tingling limbs. It was only a matter of time before it got to that level again.

Blearily, Harry reached for his mobile. He dialled 999, and by the time he got through to the dispatch centre, his hands were already starting to shake.

“I need an ambulance,” he said, followed by his address. His words were muddled together, and it was a miracle the woman at the end of the line could understand him.

He hung up the phone and tossed the butt of the cigarette into the puddled of wine. The whole placed reeked of smoke, but Harry welcomed it. His eyes slipped shut. He could feel his hands shaking violently now, and the left side of his body was numb.

He dropped his head against the pillow and waited, welcoming the pain. After all, nothing could hurt more than Liam.

❄

 

 

Harry awoke to bright lights. Flames surged through his chest and vanished below his throat. His other limbs stayed frozen. Someone murmured to his right, where streetlights fought to enter through bland curtains. Feet marched somewhere beyond the walls in preparation for others like him. He couldn’t escape the subtle aftertaste of mint.

Even though he couldn’t move his toes, his fingers wouldn’t stop twitching. He managed to tilt his head to the side.A massive winter jacket rested upon a seated figure with his hands clasped. The material was too dark to be one of a nurse. The furry hood spanned too long.

“A stroke? I shouldn’t have left them, should I?”

Harry couldn’t place the sound, too jagged to be a humming machine, too bitter to be one of the nurses checking on him. He tried to wiggle his toes. They relented. The sheet tossed over him shifted. A groan ripped from his throat at the release.

Shadows carved out Liam’s face from the fluorescent lights. A few patches of stubble remained on his jaw where the razor hadn’t reached. Harry remembered the scrape of them under his fingertips, once for the time Harry helped him shave, others for when Liam tugged him too close. Muscles had turned lax under Harry’s touch before tensing, pressing away.

Liam didn’t blink.

“Does it hurt?”

Harry swallowed another groan as he attempted to hoist himself up but fell back in bed. “I didn’t call you.”

“Nurses did. I’m your emergency contact, did you know?”

The shadows transferred to Harry’s face when Liam stood up by the bed. The flames went out in his chest and a gaping cold took its place. The sudden change left him breathless.

“Please get me out of here.”

“Harry, are you dumb?”

Harry rolled his head away in a whimper. “I’m cold.”

“That’s what you wore.” Liam jutted a finger to the garment draped at his feet. “That’s my hoodie.”

Harry fisted the mattress, rubbed the plastic fabric between his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out Liam, blocking out the smell that wafted over him. He heaved himself off the bed.

Liam muttered something before his shoes pounded around the bed. Firm hands picked Harry upright, clenched around his thin arms when he shook. The warmth of Liam’s jacket teased him, that mix of fireplace and sharp cologne. It disappeared and his back hit the bed before he could decide what to do with it.

The next time he opened his eyes, Liam paced by the door. The marching feet outside had faded away. Liam’s boots hit the tiles, heel to toe, heel to toe.

“I’m sorry. We could’ve had it better.”

Harry gazed to the ceiling. It was rehearsed—probably what Liam had planned for dinner.

“I won’t be here next time, so you have to start looking out for yourself. Try to feed your cat.”

The bed dipped as Liam’s hands pressed into it, leaning into Harry’s field of vision. His face blocked the glaring lights. Harry blinked and widened his eyes. The familiar scent overwhelmed him. A pressure sank onto his mouth, cold and parched, while Liam’s hands slid into his hair. He didn’t need to move when one kiss grew into multiple ones. His lips treaded over unknown territory, over bumps and ridges he had never tasted before. They trembled as the pressure eased off. Liam’s thumb skimmed over his cheekbone, brushed his full lips.

“Fuck,” Liam murmured. The print of his hand lingered on Harry’s skin as he resumed his pacing. Before the clicking of heel to toe became a mantra, he had opened the door and slipped out without looking back. The room fell into silence.

 

❄

 

The bags under Harry’s eyes had darkened a shade. He closeted his reek of hospital with whiffs of newly baked bread and desserts in the café’s kitchen. He stood by the dusty mirror, poking at the black circles, combing back greasy tresses from his face. Cuts marred his fingers and palms from when he cleaned up the broken wine bottle.

Niall dealt with the early costumers outside and Nick brewed coffee. One cup—labelled _Harry :)—_ stood by the backdoor as usual when Harry came in, with tea too sweet for him. He had tossed it out in the snow. Once inside, he had snatched an old bagel from the pantry and resorted to assessing himself in the mirror.

He took another bite of the bagel before discarding the rest in the bin. His stomach protested. With a deep breath he ventured out in the shop. Niall passed him in the doorway, leaving him in charge of the reception.

A handful of costumers had scattered on the seats and left pools on the floor. Harry stared at them. He jumped when someone patted him on the back.

“Are you okay?”

Nick studied his pale features, how he tensed up, what his eyes yielded. Harry brushed him off.

Instead of fleeing, Nick slid onto a stool. “Something happened on the date?”

No one had gotten close enough to smell the hospital on him, but Harry couldn’t escape it. The plastic mattress causing his back to ache, Liam’s back in the doorway.

“Hey.” This time, Nick didn’t near him. “You look sick. Are you feeling all right? I could call someone in if you want to rest.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m fine, Nick, you don’t have to baby me.”

“Really, Harry. It’s no trouble,” Nick pressed.

“Back off.” Harry’s tone took on one of warning, and he fixed Nick with a cold stare. “I’m fine, I don’t need anyone to cover for me.”

Nick held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right.”

Harry turned his back to him. He felt Nick’s eyes on his back, and for a moment Harry wondered if Nick could see the state he was in by the look in his eyes. Harry closed them and sucked in a deep breath, shielding himself from Nick. Harry stayed frozen until he heard his footsteps disappear to the back room, and then he found himself at the counter, fiddling with the buttons on the cash register.

Niall bumped shoulders with him as he walked past. He leaned against the counter, chin propped on his hands, and he locked eyes with Harry.

“What do you want?” Harry asked. He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip pulled to the side.

“We missed you yesterday. Nick said you had a date,” Niall said. “How did it go?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not important?”

“That bad, huh?” Niall chuckled.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said. He silenced Niall with the look in his eyes.

A bell chime caught their attention, and the two of them glanced up to greet the customer walking up to the counter. Niall lit up at the sight of the guy, and he opened his arms.

“Louis!”

The guy leaned over the counter to give Niall a one armed hug. He straightened his shirt when he pulled back, and his gaze flickered to Harry’s for a second.

“Hey, Niall,” Louis said. “I’ll take my usual, if you don’t mind.”

“Coming right up.” Niall winked at him, and Louis’ lips stretched into a wide grin.

Harry’s face twisted in confusion.  _What the fuck?_

Hot strangers were a foreign subject to him. He had dated Liam for so long he had forgotten what it felt like to be attracted to someone else. But Louis’ piercing blue eyes and soft features had his heart swooping with something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Harry pushed himself back from the counter and headed into the back room. Nick was perched on a chair, tapping away at his phone. He didn’t look up when Harry came in, but he knew who it was. He always knew.

“You here to take me up on that offer?” he asked.

Harry groaned, but it didn’t stop him from taking a seat beside Nick.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

Nick just grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry trailed behind Nick, hands stuffed in his pockets, lips chapped from the cold. His breath swirled around his head on every exhale. He shuffled along, kicking snow as he walked, gaze locked on the ground. The warmth of Nick’s arm over him bled into his shoulders. If he closed his eyes, he could lean into it, without thinking where they were going, without seeing Niall guiding them down narrow alleyways and along trafficked streets.

“It’s my favourite pub,” he kept saying, glancing back at them where they wobbled over ice, tangled together.

Harry had dropped a plate at work. It shattered in the middle of the café during afternoon hours. Both Niall and Nick had apologised for him when he couldn’t speak, that it was during a hectic time. Niall had swept up its pieces as Nick put on his most charming smile to the costumers. Harry remained behind the counter, slumped on a shabby stool.

Nick held him upright while his eyes slid shut, even hissed at people who bumped into them. Fumes rose from gaps below the pavement. Harry gave a few feeble coughs, willing his eyes open to be met with a subtle hut in the row of extravagant restaurant and old record shops. It glowed, nestled into a bizarre mix of bricks and planks, and despite its tranquil Harry sensed a crowd moving inside with one conjoined heartbeat. His heels dug into the gravelled path as Nick tugged him forward, following Niall into the heat.

“I’ll buy you a few drinks,” Nick said while Niall ploughed their way into the heart of the building. Despite the comfortable warmth indoors, his breaths brushed Harry’s skin. “Just tell me what you want and I can fix it. It’ll take the edge off.”

All Harry could think about was the glaring _NO SMOKING_ sign by the bar.

Niall’s trail ended by a near empty table where someone tapped their nails to their glass, chin tucked into the elbow where it rested on the table top. The bloke perked up when the three of them slid into the booth. Drinks were handed out to everyone. Even tucked into the wall, Nick touched him somehow, whether it was grasping for the same glass or their knees nudging.

“Well, you’ve met Louis,” Niall said and patted the man on the back.

Louis had left the café right before the plate accident, after hours of conversing with Niall between costumers and ordering new tea because it cooled. He had snuck glances at Harry dragging himself across the room and back and only a few times did his gaze stay as Harry saw him. Harry had met Louis.

Those blue eyes cut through the gloom, soft spears of ice that melted against Harry’s cheek. It took him a moment to realise that Louis had raised his glass and spoken and that they were all sipping now. Harry didn’t hesitate to gulp down his own drink.

“Where are you from?” Nick said.

Small circles thumbed into Harry’s spine at Nick’s idle touch as the man waited for a reply.

“Up North,” Louis said. “Not far enough to gain me an accent though. Moved here a few months back. Everything was too quiet up there, and mum worked a lot so that didn’t help. The sounds are everywhere here and I’ve got a lively roommate now so I’m good.”

“Too quiet? Didn’t you have any noisy pets?”

Harry licked his lips, pulled himself up from the seat. “I have a cat.”

He regretted opening his mouth when Niall’s jaw hacked down an inch. He hadn’t ever spoken that much in Niall’s vicinity. If he had known that this reaction would come, he would have kept his mouth shut.

After a harsh silence, Louis smiled at him. “What kind of cat?”

Harry sank down in his seat again. Nick’s arm draped over him by reflex, drenched him in familiar smells too distant to locate.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low. His fingers curled around his glass only to remember that he had emptied it minutes ago. He nudged his head into the crook of Nick’s neck. “Buy me another one?”

Nick nodded and lifted him off with gentle hands before sidling out and disappearing.

“I can never remember if you’re a heavy drinker,” Niall said, slanted to Louis.

“Can be if I want to be,” Louis said. “At least I’m better than you.”

Harry forced himself to tune out. The boisterous music playing from somewhere distant in the pub became a thrumming in his veins rather than in his ears. His fingers itched, tapped against the cigarette pack in his pocket. He shouldn’t be here. He should have gone home and cried himself to sleep instead of watching how Louis’ eyes crinkled in laughter. Shadows fell over Louis’ thin face, the dusting of stubble along his jawline.

A drink slid in front of Harry, far prettier than the stuff Louis had ordered for them.

“Recommended by the barman,” Nick said.

Silence settled over them. Niall drummed his fingers on the table, tapping along to the beat of the music pumping through the pub, louder as the night fell. Nick slid back into the both and pressed his thumb into Harry’s thigh. His touch reminded Harry of all the things he wanted to forget.

He looked down, picking at the seams of his jeans.

Louis finally spoke.

“I gotta tell you, Mary’s has the best coffee,” Louis said, now sunken into his seat, both arms braced behind his head. “It’s not even ten minutes from my workplace. Perfect lunch break distance.”

“I don’t have a coffee machine,” Niall said a little into his hands as Louis’ eyes widened.

“Mate, you gotta buy one.”

“Uni swallows a lot of money.”

“If I’d known I would have invited you over. Our coffee is shite, but it’s better than going cold turkey. That reminds me, Niall hasn’t told me anything about you.” His gaze fixated on Harry of all faces around the table. “How long have you been working there?”

The lump in Harry’s throat dissolved into tiny shards slicing his insides.

 “A few years,” he said. His fingers twitched. “When I first got to London.”

“Right after me,” Nick said, squeezing his thigh. Mixed with the pub’s scent of sweat and pungent alcohol, Nick smelled familiar—a smell Harry knew belonged to someone else but couldn’t place. He slipped out of his shoes and curled up in the seat, his head towards the smell. An arm slid around him.

Louis cleared his throat.

“We met here,” Niall said, “Louis and I, in this pub. I figured going here would be a safe bet, considering.”

Harry tuned out as his right leg started to shake, his thigh bouncing around. Nick glanced down and frowned, placed a hand on his leg to steady him, but Harry shook him off. He couldn’t breathe. The intimacy, the humid atmosphere, the anxiety billowing in his throat. He didn’t stand a chance.

As he stood up, Nick put a hand on his chest. “You doing okay?”

“I need a fag. Let me out.”

The pressure lifted after worry spread across Nick’s features and Harry pushed away shoulders and chairs on his way to the exit. The pack didn’t move in his pocket and slipped into his palm without trouble. Before he reached the exit, he placed one between his lips, yanked the coat up.

His heavy head lightened by the fourth drag. He crouched with one of his hands pressed into the snow for stability. The cigarette trembled in his grip.

The air was dense, his lungs shocked by the cold. Snow had started falling from the sky, dusting Harry’s hair white. He flicked the cigarette from his fingers and brushed the flakes from his hair. They melted against his fingers and turned them red.  

He lit another one.

Noise fled out in the night when the door opened behind him. It returned to silence a beat later. Boots crunched up to him. A shaky cough alerted him of new company. He dragged himself up to meet Louis, pluming smoke right next to his face.

Louis offered a small smile. “Are you doing okay?”

He joined Harry at the railing. He brushed snow from the banister and leaned against it. Harry eyed him, taken aback to find Louis already looking back.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “Why?”

“Because you just ran out of there,” Louis said.

Harry shrugged. “What do you care?”

Louis ignored him. “Does he make you happy?”

Harry felt like he was going to get whiplash trying to follow the speed of the conversation.

“Who?” he asked.

“Your boyfriend.”

“Nick?” Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Louis looked sheepish. “I only assumed, considering you have a face like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

Harry shot him a look and Louis cackled.

“Relax, Harry. I’m only calling you cute,” he said.

Harry stayed silent. He put the now stub of his cigarette out against the cool metal of the banister and lit another one, the flame licking against his cupped hand.

He held the box out to Louis.

“You want one?” he asked.

Louis shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“You should come back inside.” Louis nodded towards the pub, though his eyes were fixated on the smoke leaving Harry’s lips. “We’re going to do some dancing soon. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Oh, come on. Let loose for once,” Louis said.

“How do you know that I don’t?” Harry tilted an eyebrow up at him.

Louis shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but his smile gave him away. Harry tried to pretend that the crinkles that formed by his eyes didn’t remind him of Liam.

“Just a feeling,” Louis said.

Harry only hummed.

“So. What do you say? Will you take me up on my offer for dancing?” Louis pressed.

“Oh, hell.” Harry flicked his cigarette over the railing. It fizzled out in the snow. “Fine. Why not?”

Louis grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Harry trailed behind, hid his face in his collar as Louis glanced back at him, just once, before they arrived at the table. Louis took a seat and coalesced with the environment while Harry shifted on his feet, frozen hands deep in his pockets. When Nick found a gap in Niall’s conversation he averted his gaze to Harry and scooted aside. The coat slipped over Harry’s shoulders as he settled down, exposing sharp collarbones and bruises.

Sometime after his fourth drink, Niall and Louis disappeared into the crowds. Nick took his hand and set off after them. Harry could still taste the minty traces on his tongue, could still feel the tremble in his fingers as they danced. The lights of the pub beat down on his back. The heat was almost unbearable, pressed between Louis and Nick like he was. For a moment they seemed to be fighting over his attention, but Harry quickly realized how silly that was.

He was hyperaware of the eyes on him. Especially Niall, who had never seen him move in such a way. Only Nick had seen his hips sway like this before, but the circumstance was much less innocent than the one they were currently presented with.

Nick pulled him close by his hips, his lips pressed up against Harry’s ear.

“You wanna put on a show?” he asked.

Harry’s eyes flicked up to Louis, but his head turned away as soon as Harry even glanced in his direction.

Harry pulled away from Nick, shaking his head.

“I think I should go home,” he said.

“So soon?”

“I’m tired,” Harry offered. It was a weak excuse.

Nick pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. Harry was too tired to squirm out of his arms. Instead, he slumped against him, too exhausted to do anything about Nick’s wandering hands.

“No, stay,” Nick protested. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Somewhere inside of him, Louis’ voice was nagging at him to let loose. Harry’s thoughts strayed to Liam, and all the negativity surrounding him was too persistent to ignore. It hurt. It hurt like a knife to the chest.

“Okay,” Harry gave in, leaning heavier against Nick. He was too drunk to think. A part of him knew this was a bad idea, but Nick always was. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care.

Niall laughed somewhere to his left, a hoarse cackle that had Harry cracking his eyes open to where he showed off ancient moves with Louis for an approving audience. Harry slowed down. Everything kept moving around him like higher level beings while he lagged behind, always one step behind Nick’s lead.

Louis’ forehead glittered. His shirt hiked up as his arms rose. He moved without care for his surroundings, even disregarded Niall as the beat picked up. In the middle of the dance’s peak, Louis stilled and looked past the people that had come between them and fixed his gaze on Harry. The air sizzled.

Harry hiccupped. He registered Nick mouthing behind his ear, whispering something, but he couldn’t hear anything while Louis looked at him. He caved under the pressure, turned away and pawed Nick’s chest.

Nick’s lips tasted like alcohol. His hands stilled on Harry’s hips as the kiss deepened, losing himself in it. Harry pressed closer to him, breathed him in, but it all felt wrong. Something about the situation, something about feeling Louis’ eyes on him and knowing his gaze would be disapproving ignited something deep inside him.

Harry pushed him away, so sudden that it knocked Nick a few steps back. Harry stumbled backwards, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

He spun around and pushed his way through the hoard of sweaty bodies grinding on each other. His head throbbed and his throat seared. He elbowed his way through the crowd and into the night.

No one came after him. Maybe it was because they were in shock, or maybe it was because they didn’t care. Either way, Harry felt sickeningly alone.

He lit a cigarette on the walk back to his flat. The quiet spread around him with the hum of car engines and his boots clicking down the bare pavement. He pulled his coat up to his chin, trying to shield himself from the chilly air. It didn’t do much good. There was a tear in the left armpit, and the sleeves were shredded from his cat.

Dim lampposts illuminated the streets. There were barely any cars on the road, but a quick glance at his phone told him the reason. It was well past midnight. Harry had wasted hours at the pub, but not even the copious amount of alcohol he consumed or the attention he received eased the ache in his chest.

Baby was curled up on the shoe mat when Harry entered his flat. She perked up when she saw him come in and meowed softly, butting his leg. Harry reached down to pat her on the head and side stepped her to enter the kitchen. Some shards still adorned the floor.

He chugged a bottle of water and tossed the empty plastic in the sink. He’d have the energy to deal with the waste in the morning, but for now, he curled up the mattress in his kitchen and pulled the ratty comforter over himself.

Baby came and curled up on his pillow. Harry pet her for a few moments before boredom set in, and he typed in the passcode on his phone as she licked his cheek.

Harry logged into his Facebook account, immediately overwhelmed by his notifications. He hadn’t used the site in months. Keeping up with everyone else’s lives was exhausting, and he never had anything interesting to say about his own.

Drunken photos Niall had posted crowded his feed. Harry was maybe in two out of the dozens Niall had posted, but he was tagged in almost all of them. He didn’t have time to go through and like them all, didn’t have the energy to care, so he scrolled past the pictures as fast as he could.

A status update from Liam caught his attention.  _Twelve weeks left! :)_ with a dancing emoticon stared him right in the face. Harry scowled. Twelve weeks until what?

He knew he was supposed to unfriend Liam, but he couldn’t bring himself to click the green button and make it red. He had known Liam’s entire life for a few months shy of a year. He wasn’t ready to let that go. Losing this—this small connection to Liam—meant being alone. Harry wasn’t ready for that. He’d hung Liam’s hoodie over the back of his couch. Even discarded by the poorly isolated window, it stank of him. Now Harry’s scent had begun to latch on, after wearing it and petting it while having a smoke.

Harry’s notification feed dinged. He was prepared to ignore it, thinking it was more photos uploaded by Niall, but the words  _pending friend request_ caught his eye. When he clicked on it, Louis’ profile popped up on his screen.

_What?_

Harry shook his head. This wasn’t happening. It  _wasn’t_. Everything was already too complicated, and now Louis was going to come along and fuck it all up. It wasn’t going to happen. Harry wouldn’t let it.

He locked his phone and tossed it to the other side of the mattress. While the howling sirens down the street would have kept him up to see the sun rise, he could barely hear them now. He pressed his face into Baby’s stomach, who responded with a soft meow. Harry kissed her side. He wondered if she was repulsed by his everlasting stench of smoke.

“Goodnight, Baby,” he whispered, and was lulled to sleep by the sound of her purring.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis woke to insistent banging. He wrote it off as Zayn’s headboard banging against the wall, considering his girlfriend had spent the night, and rolled onto his stomach to catch a few more hours of sleep. But then the drilling started, and that was definitely not sex noises.

“What the fuck?” He sat up in bed and wiped blearily at his eyes. The drilling hadn’t stopped, and Louis was beginning to get agitated.

He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and touched the cool hardwood floor. He reached for the first shirt he could find, and by the smell wafting from it, it hadn’t been washed in days.

Louis stumbled down the hallway, hiking a pair of sweatpants up and over his hips as he went. The hardwood boards tickled his feet. He shielded his eyes with his hands, just in case the noises were what he originally suspected.

“What in the hell are you two doing?” he asked.

“Building a table,” Zayn said.

“Bullshit. What are you actually doing?”

“Building a table,” Zayn repeated. “Maybe if you’d uncover your eyes you could see for yourself.”

Cautiously, Louis opened his eyes. He surveyed the room, pleased to find no naked bodies in compromising positions. Rather than the familiar stench of sex, particles of wood sailed the air, irking his eyes. Zayn was being truthful. There was a coffee table half assembled in the middle of the room. Anna, Zayn’s girlfriend, knelt down beside it, screwing in a nail.

“It’s seven in the morning,” Louis said, unimpressed.

Anna shrugged. “We couldn’t sleep.”

“So you decided to build a table?” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Precisely.” Anna nodded. She wiggled her eyebrows. “You gotta beat boredom some way.”

Louis sighed. He was used to these antics from years of friendship with Zayn, but since he met Anna, there was never a dull moment.

Zayn had met her two years ago in the parking lot at Cambridge University. Zayn had been visiting a site for a potential modelling shoot, and Anna was visiting her sister for the weekend. Zayn had bumped into her and spilt her coffee all over the ground. He found her anger endearing, and the next thing they knew, he had taken her to a coffee shop to replace her drink. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

“You don’t have to wake me up so early,” Louis snapped in response to Anna’s quip. He rubbed his hands over his face. The stubble on his cheeks ticked his palms.

“I’m going out for lunch with some friends later,” Zayn said.

“Some of your modelling friends?” Louis raised an eyebrow.

Zayn shot a quick glance at Anna, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was too engrossed in drilling a wooden leg into the coffee table.

“Yeah, I’m going out with a few buddies,” Zayn said. “You want to come?”

Louis shrugged. “Sure. I haven’t got anything better to do.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Save it. You enjoy hanging out with me and my famous, attractive friends.”

Louis thought of Harry. He was attractive. His dimples, his bright green eyes, the soft curls adorning his head. Louis would choose him over Zayn’s modelling friends any day.

He held a finger over his lips. “Hush.”

Zayn ignored him.

“You should probably shave,” he said.

Louis touched his face again.

“Probably,” he agreed.

Zayn looked at Anna, and Louis took a moment to admire the way Zayn looked at her. His expression softened the longer he stared, his lips pulling up into a smile. In the time Louis had known Zayn, he’d never seen him so certain about someone before.

“She’s beautiful,” Zayn murmured. Louis rolled his eyes.

Anna dusted her hands off on the seat of her jeans and rose to her feet. Straggly hair welled over her forehead. From this position, she was as tall as Zayn’s chin. He reached out and poked a few of her freckles, fastened a strand or two behind her ear.

“I can hear you,” she said. “And besides, you’re only saying that so you can get me into your bed.”

“I already accomplished that this morning,” Zayn said cheekily.

Anna huffed and slapped him playfully on the chest.

Louis threw up his hands. “I am right here.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you haven’t heard us before.”

“I’d like to pretend that I still have some innocence. You two don’t help that concept at all,” Louis retorted.

“Louis, do us all a favour and go shave,” Zayn said. He gave him a gentle nudge.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Louis asked.

“You could stay and watch us make out,” Zayn offered, pulling Anna in for a lingering kiss just to prove his point.

Louis covered his eyes.

“No, no, don’t! I’m going, I’m going.”

As much as Louis teased them, he loved Anna. Her presence had been beneficial for both of them, and she brought a liveliness to their lives they were missing. She had a way about her that put everyone she came into contact with under a spell, especially Zayn.

Louis swirled shaving cream onto the palm of his hand and rubbed it against his face. The once blue liquid foamed into a soft white, and a drop slid off his cupid’s bow and onto his lip. It tasted of chemicals, and he spat into the sink.

He ran a razor over his cheeks. It was probably Zayn’s, but this wasn’t the first time Louis has used his things by accident. They had similar everything, down to their toothbrushes and underwear.

True to his word, Zayn squared the bathroom doorway with kiss-bitten lips and mussed up hair. A love bite the size of his thumb bloomed below his ear. Louis just groaned.

“You always have to follow through with your threats, don’t you?”

Zayn shrugged. “She’s super hot, I can’t help myself.”

“Where is she?” Louis asked, ignoring his remark.

“Changing her pants.”

Louis pulled a face. He skimmed a finger over his fresh skin, eradicated of any hairs. It sent a small tingle through his marrow, shaving off five years from his face within minutes.

“You’re disgusting,” he said upon seeing the smirk on Zayn’s face.

“Whatever.” Zayn waved his hand. “That’s my razor, by the way.”

“I figured. I’ll switch the blade when I’m done.”

Zayn bumped him out of the way and ran his tooth brush under the tap.

“I think that’s mine,” Louis said. Zayn merely shrugged.

“Sorry for waking you up so early,” he said.

“No, you’re not.”

A shit eating grin spread across Zayn’s lips. His teeth glimmered below, always tidied up for impromptu photoshoots.

“I’m really not,” he said.

Louis cupped a hand under the running water and splashed his face. He made sure to bespatter Zayn with foam and, when faced with a counter attack, smear toothpaste on his praised features. Given their cackling, it was a miracle that Anna didn’t intervene. Afterwards they snatched a towel each and started wiping.

“So, you’ll just drench me in various fluids all day,” Zayn said with half an effervescent beard hanging over his stubble. Louis had already dried off his hands.

“Promised to check up on Niall at least once today,” Louis said, navigating back to his bedroom with Zayn on his heels. He treaded past heaps of clothing, all bearing a quaint odour, to last night’s folded attire on a chair. Old layers of cologne prickled his nose, none of them pleasant. Jeans and tees flew at his feet as he dug his way forward to the closet. Zayn busied himself with picking at catalogues and gossip magazines while he rummaged.

“You told me you’d stopped reading these,” Zayn said. The bed creaked as he positioned himself on the wrinkly duvet.

Louis hummed as he compared two Christmas-patterned sweatshirts. “Can’t really stop. Besides, everyone reads them. Niall does.”

“He works at that café, right? The bloke you met at the Fox and the Hound?”

With furrowed brows, Zayn turned down the sweatshirts that Louis displayed. A woeful cry emitted from his throat.

“I have nothing, absolutely nothing,” he said.

“Are you shagging him or something?” Zayn said, rolling up the magazine and stuffed it under the mattress. “It’s okay if you are, I’d just appreciate you telling me.”

“I’m really not shagging Niall.”

“Then why the outfit-mania?”

“Because each set of clothing has one of three fatal flaws, being that they stink of three week’s neglecting, or that they look like my two fine examples presented before you right now, or that you’ve had sex on them, and I can’t wear clothes like that today.” He tossed the garments back on their congested shelves. They puffed dust in his face. “Other than Niall, there’s this gorgeous guy working there. If I didn’t have awful clothes like this, I might have a shot with him.”

Zayn shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you.”

“Oh, come on. When was the last time I dated? You should be happy for me.” Louis tossed a ripped pair of jeans to the floor. It landed on a built up pile of discarded clothes.

Zayn was quiet for a moment, tapping his finger against his lips. Louis watched him carefully, waiting for the moment where the quiet spell would be broken. Zayn’s face lit up with mischief, and Louis held in a groan at the pending proposal.

“Come to my room. I’ll lend you something to wear,” Zayn said. He stood up and beckoned him.

Louis stepped over heaps of disregarded clothes and followed Zayn out of the room. Anna was sprawled across Zayn’s bed when they entered his room, tapping away at her phone. Dark brown curls were piled on the pillow, strewn out every which way. She briefly spared them a glance before she returned her gaze to her phone.

“You look like shit, Louis,” she said.

“You don’t look much better.” Louis gestured to her saw dusted clothes and dirty face.

Anna tossed her phone to the side. It landed near her hip and bounced once. She tucked her arms under her head.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

“I’m helping him pick out clothes,” Zayn answered for Louis. “All of his shirts are shit.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“A boy that works at Niall’s café,” Louis told her. “His name is Harry.”

“What does he look like?”

Louis’ cheeks heated up at the thought of him.

“His hair is brown, and it’s curly like yours. Green eyes, freckles near his lips. Oh, and he’s got the cutest dimples,” Louis gushed, smile on his lips. “He’s quite pretty.”

Anna and Zayn exchanged a look, knowing smiles gracing their lips. They said nothing, and Louis collapsed on Zayn’s bed with a groan.

“If only I had nicer clothes,” he said. “I want him to notice me, you know?”

“Trust me, Louis, it’s hard to not miss you.” Zayn snorted. He tossed a dark grey sweater at him. “And put this on. It looks clean, it smells clean, and it’ll make your eyes pop.”

Louis looked it over. The fabric was smooth against his palms, soft wool tickling his skin. A black chequered pattern adorned the sweater, and Louis brought it up to his nose. As promised, it smelt good. Like Zayn, and he always smelt amazing.

“Thank you,” he said, holding up the sweater.

Zayn waved a hand. “No problem. Now put that on while I find you some pants.”

“Will you do my quiff, too?” Louis asked.

“Of course.”

Five minutes later, Louis was seated on Zayn’s bed as he spiked his hair up with gel. Black jeans clung to his thick thighs, a hole artfully placed in the knee. He smoothed the sweater out against his chest and looked at Anna.

“Was it like this for you two when you first started dating?” he asked.

She smiled at Zayn. “It’s still like that. If it’s real it never goes away.”

Zayn leaned down to kiss her, and it was impossible for Louis to tease them when he saw the way they smiled into each other’s lips.

“I love you,” Zayn whispered when they pulled away.

Anna grinned. “I love you, too.”

“ _Okay_.” Louis grimaced. “I can handle the sex stuff, but I can’t do the mushy stuff. Save it for when I’m out of the room.”

Zayn yanked on his hair. Louis’ back bowed, and he frowned up at Zayn.

“ _Ow_.”

“You watch it,” Zayn said.

Louis held in a disgruntled noise. Zayn mussed with his hair as Anna watched on, amused. He traded a look with her as he ran his fingers through Louis’ fringe, and with a final comb through, his quiff was set.

“There,” Zayn said. “Now, off you go. Woo him.”

Louis rolled his eyes.

“You could invite him to lunch,” Zayn added.

Louis shook his head. “I doubt that’ll happen. I’ll keep your offer in mind, though.”

“Will you come?” Zayn asked, diverting his attention to Anna.

She shook her head. “I have to work.”

“You always have to work.” Zayn frowned.

“I know.” Anna took his hand and squeezed. She brushed her thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m supposed to work on the computer floor today, though. I can’t blow it off today.”

Zayn pouted. “I’ll miss you.”

Anna patted his cheek. “And I’ll miss you.”

“As cute as the two of you are, I must leave,” Louis said. He stood and pocketed his phone. “It’s time for me to meet up with Niall.”

“Don’t fuck up in front of Harry!” Anna called after him as he shut the door to the flat. He shook his head in amusement and tucked his hands into his pockets.

It appeared to have snowed overnight. The ground was white with a fresh dusting of snow, pearly and soft. It crunched under Louis’ boots as he walked, soaking his ankles. They were once grey, but now they were black and heavy from waterlog.

Louis groaned and continued his trek to Niall’s café. The roads were icy, and each car that sped past him flickered snow up and onto his jacket. Louis shivered and pulled the collar up to his chin, flicked his hood up.

When Louis finally arrived at the café, he was surprised at the small number of patrons seated inside. There weren’t more than five people scattered around the small shop. Louis bet it on Niall’s lack of a high class coffee machine.

Louis reached for the handle, but his feet were suddenly snatched up from underneath him. His boots skidded over slippery ice and he fell hard on his ass with a loud  _oof_. His limbs sprawled out uselessly. The back of his head throbbed from the hit. His face scrunched up in pain.

“Fuck,” he swore.

“Louis!”

The hands that hoisted him off the ground were rough. He stood up too fast and the sky spun. Louis doubled over and clutched his head, eyes squeezed shut. He felt like he was going to vomit. The harsh palm rubbing his back was doing anything to help.

“Let go of me,” he mumbled, and he was relieved when the person listened.

When the nausea passed, Louis carefully opened his eyes and straightened up. He was met with Niall’s concerned expression, furrowed eyebrows and all.

“I’m fine,” Louis said, edge to his voice. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

Niall eased off. His lips trembled as he held in a grin, but it eventually became too difficult to contain. He burst out with laughter. Louis frowned at him disapprovingly.

“Fuck off.” He gave Niall a shove.

Peering over his shoulder, he spotted Harry by the cash register. He was laughing, but Louis considered it was something Nick said, given his ever-looming presence around Harry. But then Harry looked right at him and his smile didn’t disappear, and Louis felt something warm in his chest.

Louis brushed the snow off his bum. Wet spots formed in the wake, and he groaned.

“Let’s go inside,” he said.

He hastily shoved past Niall into the café. He was greeted by amused stares by customers, and he tossed up his hands.

“I can’t get away from it.”

Niall snorted. He clapped Louis on the shoulder and directed him towards the counter. Harry still had a smug grin on his face, but Louis lost his smile when he noticed Nick’s hands rubbing Harry’s shoulder.

Niall noticed him tense. Harry did, too. His smile dropped off his face and he pulled out of Nick’s grip. He reached for the mop and ducked around the counter.

“I’m going to clean the floors,” he mumbled.

Nick reached for him, but Harry shoved his arm away. He started mopping at the far end of the café, away from the three of them.

Nick frowned. “The hell was that about?”

Niall pretended to look perplexed.

“I don’t know. Hey, why don’t you go busk that table?” he suggested, pointing to a table across from them. It was purposely far from Harry, and Louis felt smug.

Nick didn’t pick up on it. He merely shrugged and picked up gathered up a cloth before he headed over to the table. Niall patted Louis on the shoulder.

“He’s cute,” he said.

Louis scrunched up his face. “Nick? Ew, no.”

Niall snorted and shook his head.

“No, Harry,” he answered.

“Oh.” Louis blushed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You like him?” Niall asked.

Louis shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well, you’ve got my blessing.” Niall smiled.

“Thank you.”

“That was a spectacular fall, though,” Niall said, and Louis frowned.

“Come off it, will you?”

Niall chuckled. “Go talk to Harry. I’ll keep Nick occupied.”

“Greatly appreciated,” Louis replied.

Countless coffee spills stained the floor of the café brown. Pastry crumbs littered the floor beside a young girl and her mother, and Louis smiled at her as he passed. Harry was busy mopping slush piles from wet boots. Louis approached him with light steps, careful not to startle him. He kept his smile tamed.

“Hey,” he said.

Harry barely looked at him. “Hey.”

“You didn’t accept my friend request on Facebook,” Louis said. “I know you were online because you liked a few of Niall’s pictures. Do you not like me or something?”

The mop clattered to the floor. Harry quickly picked it back up, cussing under his breath. He turned his back to Louis, whose fingers itched. Impatience overtook him. He moved in front of Harry and forced him to look at him.

“Do you?” he pressed.

Harry hesitated.

Louis dropped his hand and rolled his shoulders back. “Right. I didn’t think I was that bad.”

“You’re fine,” Harry cut in. His body was tense, arms drawn in close to his body. “I didn’t notice the request.”

“Bullshit,” Louis muttered. If Harry heard, he didn’t say anything about it at all.

“You must be bruised,” Harry said. When Louis just stared, he elaborated. “I saw you fall. You went down pretty hard.”

“Oh, that.” Louis’ cheeks flamed. “I’m fine. I’m used to it. I can be quite klutzy.”

“Me too.” Harry cracked a small smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Louis noted how dull they looked. His whole face was pale and hollow, as if the life had literally been sucked right out of him.

Louis scowled.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just tired. It’s early.”

“Are you really telling the truth?”

Louis felt it the moment he drew back. Harry’s lips set in a harsh line and he appeared to curl in on himself. He held the mop protectively in front of his chest and backed up. A rosy tint coloured his skin. For a second, his paper-like sheen vanished.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Now leave me alone, I’m working. I’m not going to get fired for you.”

“Point taken,” Louis muttered. Heart heavy, he quickly walked back over to the counter. Niall waited for him with raised eyebrows, looking way too smug.

“Struck out?”

“Fuck off.”

Niall passed him paper cup full of iced coffee.

“Here,” he said. “Caramel flavoured. This is one of our newest features.”

Louis took a sip.

“Not bad,” he said. “But if this is your way of making me feel less bad about Harry absolutely rejecting me, it’s only half working.”

Niall rolled his eyes.

Louis phone beeped with a text from Zayn.  _Come outside, we need to head downtown for lunch now_.

“Who is that?” Niall asked.

Louis held up his phone. “My friend, Zayn. I’m going to lunch with him and a few buddies. I’ll drop by soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall affirmed. “Have a good lunch. Bring me back your leftovers.”

“Sure, sure.” It was an empty promise. Niall knew this, but he still put forth an overly excited reaction.

“See you, Lou,” he said. “And don’t worry about Harry. He’s just got a lot going on. He’ll come around.”

“I sure hope so,” Louis replied. “See you tomorrow.”

He shrugged on his jacket and headed for the door. Cold air shocked his lungs, and he shivered. Zayn’s silver Audi was parked out front. Louis stumbled into the passenger side, knocking his head in the opening.

Zayn snorted.

“Graceful entry, Louis. Very graceful,” he said.

“Just drive.”

Greens and blues whizzed past the window in a blur of colour. Zayn must have been going twenty kilometres over the speed limit. It was a nervous habit he picked up when he first started modelling after his first time showing up late almost got him fired. If it weren’t for his good looks and charm, he probably wouldn’t have a career to speak of.

Zayn was tall and thin. Plump lips, messy black hair, pretty cheek bones. Everyone wanted him. He was very,  _very_ successful, and his attire reflected that. Today Zayn was wearing a Burberry top and heavy black Docs. He looked expensive. He smelled expensive. Louis was impressed. He usually was when it came to Zayn’s appearance and his general essence.

They arrived at  _Café Laurel_ at noon. The restaurant was quaint, tucked between an alleyway and a strip club. It was a class Zayn hangout. He always purposefully picked places that never flew under the radar.

Louis tucked his hands into the sleeves of his sweater and trailed behind Zayn. Sweet aromas hung heavy over the air, and Louis took a long whiff of peppermint and alcohol. It was an odd combination, but soothing nonetheless. It smelt like Anna after she’d been drinking.

Zayn sat down across from his buddies. He shook all of their hands and motioned for Louis to do the same. Slowly, he sat down, feeling more anxious than before. Surrounded by Zayn and all of his important modelling friends, Louis felt so small. Lost. This wasn’t his life. This wasn’t his world.

“Louis!” Carolyn said, grinning at him. “You haven’t been around in ages. How have you been?”

“Good,” Louis replied. “Been keeping myself busy. Not as busy as you all, I’m sure.”

“I’ve been busy prepping for a fashion show,” Carolyn said. “Me and Amanda. We’re participating in a Victoria’s Secret show. It’s a pretty big deal.”

“Very,” Amanda confirmed.

“That’s awesome.” Louis smiled at them.

Zayn had a lot of friends, but he only kept a few close. Carolyn, Amanda, and Xavier were his best friends in the industry, and among the most famous. They all met years ago at photoshoot for a famous fashion magazine, and they had stayed close ever since. Louis liked all of them, but the endless one upping did get tiresome.

“Thank you.” Carolyn smiled. “You sure you don’t want to try it out sometime? If I remember correctly you’re quite photogenic. And you’ve got awesome cheekbones.”

Louis snorted. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

In the early days, Louis came to lunch with Zayn and his friends on a consistent basis. But then Zayn got more famous, and Louis felt out of place amongst his successful, hot friends. He dressed lazily. He had trouble holding down a job.He wasn’t like these people. It made it harder to pretend.

Flashing lights caught Louis’ attention. He turned his head to the window and was met with the sight of dozens of cameras. Louis tugged on Zayn’s sleeve.

“They’re taking pictures of us,” he whispered.

Zayn barely spared the window a glance.

“It happens more often than not,” he said.

Louis tugged on his sleeve again.

“Well, I’m done eating. I want to leave,” he said.

Zayn peered at him. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” Louis confessed quietly. “I want to leave, Zayn. I don’t like having my picture taken. Not anymore.”

“I know, I know.” Zayn looked conflicted.

“Please?”

He gave in. “We’ll leave. Go to the car, I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

“All right. Thank you.”

Louis said his goodbyes to everyone at the table, and then he left to go sit in the car. Zayn’s five minutes always meant fifteen minutes, so he put his feet on the dash and got comfortable. His fingers sank into the seat, blunt nails sweeping over the taut material. Black bits gathered under his nails. He cussed and retreated.

He wondered how Zayn could get used to the constant buzz over him. It seemed impossible. Murdering beauty standards, deceitful interviewers, prestigious and global magazines lusting for him. He took a round in the bathroom every other day, measuring the growth of his stubble and the nuance of his skin. Louis would often catch him stealing face cream from Anna. Slippers skidded below his soles, not properly clinging to his limbs, in the same manner that the toothbrush would dangle in the corner of his mouth.

On Friday nights the couple nestled up in their end of the couch, filing each other’s nails or toying with the other’s hair. Despite constant bolting from one scene to another and posing every time he left their tiny block of flats, Zayn could still crack a smile at the end of the week and light up the two Tomlinson-Cadwallader thirds of the flat.

The gaggle of paparazzi parted on the street when Zayn moved forth with Carolyn and Amanda in tow. His coattail sailed in the wind. The friends parted outside Zayn’s vehicle. Flashes and feet pattered after each of them.

“Ready to go?” Zayn asked, ducking into the car.

“Very,” Louis answered.

They left the café in the rear-view mirror. Surrounding buildings greyed and grew blander. Vines coiled up forlorn walls, the colour of ashes in their withering state. It reminded Louis of a deserted bridge in the woods outside his childhood home, of a life before London.

Zayn squeezed his shoulder, eyes trained on the license plate on the car in front of them as they reached a traffic jam. He slanted his head to Louis.

“Be prepared to be all over the internet tomorrow,” he said.

Louis gave a tight grin.


	4. Chapter 4

During closing hours, the music always winded up. From a melodic hum shaped to entice, it built up, twisted to a quicker cadence set to gently hurry costumers away. Now that everyone had already left, it echoed, probably vexing the neighbours. Harry turned the florid sign on the front door to _CLOSED._ Nick jammed out behind the counter.

“Come on, pick a tune, any tune,” he said, hopping up next to the till. Eclectic pop blasted from the speakers. His quiffed hair had begun to sag.

Harry sank down in one of the booths. Brushing his hair back, he peered at the motion outside. People blessed the snowfall, hurried back to their families and shared the hopes of a white Christmas. Cars skidded all over the streets and horns honked in the crisp evening as frustrated voice shrilled and sleet soaked bystanders.

The empty cup on his table disappeared in the corner of his eye. He glanced up to catch Nick on his way back to the kitchen. The music had lulled to a folky mix.

“You look cold,” Nick said upon returning, cloth and detergent in hand.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m always cold.”

Chemical aromas rose to his nostrils as Nick cleaned up. Lemon grass and sanitary hospital merged in toxicity. He nosed into his hoodie and slanted his head into his palm. He couldn’t smell Liam on it anymore.

“We could go over to mine for a bit,” Nick said, keeping his gaze down. “There’s good heating and I’ve got a pack of cigarettes. Yours ran out, so I figured…”

When Harry didn’t reply, he looked up. He nibbled on his lip to hold back speech, mapping out Harry’s mellow eyes in the golden lighting, how the glow highlighted his pink lips.

Long lashes fluttered against Harry’s cheek as he picked his head up.

“Cigarettes would be good,” he said. “Thanks.”

Nick nodded and held his gaze for a few seconds before switching tables. He shed his apron on a table in the middle. A bounce graced his steps, like they were back in the pub in clouds of liquor, free of thought in the crowd.

Harry ached for relief. Dusting off his own apron, he sought solitary in the kitchen while Nick finished up. He leaned against a floured table top to breathe. The freshness of the room soothed him, even when it had all cooled off. He reminisced the crack of the first baguette in the morning, his breakfast espresso and the rings the cup left behind, the winter sunshine setting everything ablaze despite its elusive warmth.

Chills gnawed at his fingertips when they sank into residual dough on the worktop. New messes lurked in the shadows where moonlight couldn’t eat through the city’s bright veil. He would have to get up earlier to make the shop presentable.

The music cut off outside the door. Soon, Nick entered with light steps. Harry closed his eyes, hanging in the moment until a careful touch descended on his hand.

“Ready for some heating?” Nick said. He cupped Harry’s hand and scrubbed off some of the icy dough. “You gotta feed your cat or something? We could head to your place.”

Harry shook his head. He turned around, easing a hand up Nick’s arm, the feathery touch that brought him to his knees. “Not my place.”

They didn’t talk during their walk. Small rocks skipped over the ground, muffled by snow and traffic. Abstinence hammered in Harry’s body. It showed itself in grinding teeth and curling fingers, matched with a vibe that even had Nick quiet. Not once did their hands brush.

Toeing off his shoes at once inside the flat, Harry’s feet sank into the cream-coloured carpet. Heat breathed in his face. He hummed as it crept through the holes in his jeans and patted down his goose bumps. Nick pressed the cigarette pack into his hand and draped a plaid over his shoulders. Fumbling for his age-damaged lighter, Harry headed outside.

From up here he could study London without being seen, unlike in his own flat. Smoke circles billowed from his lips. His fingers tightened around the railing as he coughed, the fag teetering in his grasp. He knew that he should savour the moment, but it burned out all too soon and the cold bit right through the plaid. Halfway through his second one, he put it out with his heel and ducked inside.

“Better?” Nick said from the couch. His work attire had changed to sweatpants and a bland tee.

Harry sunk down next to him.

“I thought you hated the smell,” he said, sniffling.

“It’s charming. I like how you smell.”

The plaid drooped over Harry’s curled up body. He shuffled closer until Nick’s arm braced around him. The black TV-screen reflected Nick’s smile above him, how he twitched in anticipation. He craned his head to find Nick only inches away. He eyed the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“You’re breath-taking,” Nick said.

“You can’t say stuff like that if we’re gonna do this.”

Nick’s eyes flickered across his face, a small crease breaching his forehead. His shy smile remained. “Okay?”

Harry slotted a hand behind his neck, hoisting himself up to rake through his hair. The quiff came down little by little. Breaths shortened and eyes widened as Harry hinted a smile. He urged on the growing fever with a searing kiss. Incoherent words wrenched into his mouth, silenced when he brought tongue into play. The body below him turned lax under his influence.

The plaid came down from his bony shoulders as he straddled Nick. Guiding Nick’s hands to his bum, he cocked his head, made sure to spill curls over his eyes. Teeth grazed his exposed neck like razors, with praises nestling into his flesh.

“You can fuck me,” Harry murmured between ragged exhales. He leaned back on Nick’s thighs and whipped back his fringe. It saddened him to see Nick look at him like that, like he had answers to anything.

“The neighbours won’t be bothered, right?” he said, ghosting his icy palm down Nick’s chest.

Deep in a haze, Nick forced himself to break the trance, mouth still agape. “Aren’t you taken?”

Harry chuckled. “That didn’t stop you before. Come on, I’m horny.”

He yanked off his tee, sighing at the air running over his chest. Under Nick’s gaze, he unzipped his jeans, giving a small grind while doing so. He tugged them halfway down his thighs before settling down in the couch.

Matted curls washed over the cushions hidden in the corner. He skimmed his hands over his chest and dented underwear, to the leather below him. The foam had begun to crown in multiple crevices. Cracks spread over the fabric like roots. He tangled his fingers in one of the holes.

Nick didn’t move. He drank in the boy before him, the way his back arched and his ribs protruded. Harry’s lips burst in pink when released from his teeth.

“You really are gorgeous,” Nick said, daring to break the picture by sweeping a finger over Harry’s mouth. “Sorry,” he added before Harry could scold him. He assembled himself as those lips closed around his fingertips. The sensation was overwhelming. “What— Where do you want me?”

Strings of saliva hung from Harry’s mouth as he popped off. He pawed at Nick’s head, wriggling out of his jeans. Nick finally got the hint and shuffled down the couch. Foam sprouted between Harry’s clenched hands as the gagging started. No matter the distractions, he could still taste the sugary coffee from Nick’s tongue.

There wasn’t any pain to avert his thoughts. Nick executed everything with a vigilant touch. Slow licks circled the head, a hand massaged Harry’s hipbone, kisses burned into his abdomen. He sank into the darkness in the living room, breathed the old cushions and musk clouding the air. For a moment he didn’t mind the caring nature.

The hand began to wander. Something smooth prodded against his ass.

“Please tell me you’ve got lube,” Harry said, forcing himself to look down. Saliva and translucent precome dabbed Nick’s chin. His hair was a sweaty mess.

“Yeah, bedroom.” Nick swallowed and wiped his face. “Do you want anything else? Condoms…?”

“Just be quick about it.”

The couch sprung up when Nick’s weight disappeared. Rattling echoed through the flat. Turning away, he spotted himself in the telly, a wan blob in the dark. He grasped his cock, watched himself keeping it erect. He hadn’t done this in ages.

A bottle of lube dropped down next to him. Somewhere behind him, Nick kicked off his trousers, probably snuck a glance in the hallway’s full-body mirror.

Harry began to loosen himself up. Thoughts of Liam’s scruff entered his mind, its bite on his inner thighs, or coated by come. He gasped as his fingers sank deeper.

“You want any help?” Nick said, leaning over the back of the couch.

Harry twisted onto his side and fisted the worn leather. The couch swallowed his unwanted moans, even blocked out Nick’s inquiries. Everything blackened. His back met with cool skin as Nick scooted up next to him, rubbing his shoulder.

Hazel eyes, too bright, mapped out his curled-up shape. Steady hands picked him up and placed him on his knees. Their reflections transitioned to the balcony door. They looked like ghosts toward the backdrop of the city. He let his head fall.

Nick kissed his neck, mumbling, “I’m so lucky.”

The whole act was a blur to Harry. He stared at the leather in his grip, how it split farther. Pulled up by his hair, with foreign heartbeats ringing through his shoulder blades, he drilled his nails into the body behind him. The cold infested his damp skin and urged on his strained breaths. The long desired relief began to fill him up, soothed his thoughts. He could finally lose himself.

Blue eyes appeared in the black before him, but he couldn’t decipher their origin. They stayed with him through his climax, when his arms gave away and his face met with the cushions. They enthralled him through the aftermath, when he gasped for breath and Nick swaddled him in his arms. He shook even minutes later.

On their stroll to the bedroom, Harry peered up at him. A sheen of satisfaction coated Nick’s face. He navigated through the flat without bumping Harry’s dangling legs. While he’d had the time to dress, Harry was still naked.

Nick refrained from coddling him in bed, but drew imaginary figures on his flushed skin. Harry’s pulse quickened under his touch.

“I remember the first time, when we danced at my birthday party,” he said, barely containing a goofy grin.

Harry had no need for this affection. He folded over the mattress, reaching for his pile of clothes. The cigarette pack slipped into his hand.

“You were the loveliest guy in the room,” Nick continued. His touch moved through the white traces on Harry’s abdomen. “All the cheap champagne, the feel of you when you kissed me, how soft your hair was.” He combed a hand through Harry’s curls. “It was a wonderful night.”

Harry tapped the stick between his teeth, wary if Nick would protest, but he didn’t, too caught up in reminiscing. Smoke soon coiled from his bruised lips. His high vanished with each breath, and with each breath, his black thoughts returned. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had nowhere else to go.

“I need to smoke,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Nick quieted, gave a small smile. “Yeah, sure.” He picked up a newspaper from the nightstand and flicked on the lights. Coffee stains dotted its corners and marmalade smeared over the headline, gluing the paper together. A pair of slim glasses crowned his nose.

Harry hadn’t taken his third drag when Nick piped up again.

“Isn’t this the guy Niall brought to the pub?”

Harry recognised his eyes before his face.

Louis, shadowed by a taller man’s shoulder, twirled his fork in a salad at a table of cover-worthy people. The window between him and the photographer resisted a large portion of the flashes, but this one picture had turned into front page material. Most of his features fell away due to bad resolution, yet the tint in his eyes was haunting. The headline revealed the taller man by his side to be Zayn Malik, the supermodel.

“I have the early shift tomorrow,” Harry said. His gaze hadn’t shifted. “Do you mind?”

Nick put away the paper. His glasses clicked softly against the wood. He laid to rest and nuzzled into Harry’s side in agreement. “Goodnight.”

Harry let the word hang, sipping his cigarette until snores permeated the bedroom. He brushed off the thin excuse of a duvet and got up. Grabbing his clothes, he watched Nick bundle it in his arms and bury his nose in it. Nausea rose in Harry’s throat.

Dark jeans scraped up his legs while he stumbled through the flat. The cigarette teetered in his bite. He caught sight of a bruised trail up his throat in the hallway mirror. The largest one adorned his clavicle. He couldn’t recall being bitten there.

Wind howled through his coat where he tramped home via alleyways and deserted courtyards. The bins he passed reeked of fish and charred plastic. It hit him that Baby hadn’t been fed since he took off for work that morning.

If he made it home without collapsing, he would cook his best dish for her.

 

 

❄

 

 

Fairy lights coiled around the entrance to Mary’s Corner. Miniature figures of reindeers and baby Jesus lined the counter between heaps of cotton. The pink interior had darkened to a full red. The entire shop stank of cinnamon and ginger.

Niall fastened a garland in a ceiling nook behind the counter. He trembled on the stool he stood on when the tiny bell sounded by the door. It didn’t qualm him to spot Harry treading through the room, bundled in multiple layers too hot for the mollifying winter.

“What’s with the Christmas knick-knack?” Harry said through his scarf.

Niall blinked.

“Boss told us to titivate the shop,” he said. He wore a red and white striped apron.

Harry scowled. “We’re not even halfway through November.”

“I’m not a big fan of Christmas, either.” Niall chewed on his lip. “We ought to stock up on the ginger spiced beverages and biscuits as well. We got the order last week. Didn’t Nick inform you?”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh, okay.”

Making his way back to the kitchen, Harry yanked his own apron from the coat-hanger. Niall stepped out of his way on his march out in the shop. He spotted the new names up on the chalkboard. _Rudolph’s delight, Helper Mocha, Naughty saffron buns, Santa-sized._ The air tightened up under his scarf.

“It’s boiling,” he stated.

“Well, you could take off your outerwear…”

Harry skimmed his fingers over the nubby fabric. A hoodie still kept his hair in place, still braced over large parts of his throat. If he didn’t move too much it should be enough to cover up. With that, he ripped off the scarf.

“Oh,” Niall said.

Harry deflated.

The tiny bell tinkled again.

“It’s six in the morning?” Niall said and whipped towards the costumer. Louis’ grin lit up the shadowed corners in the room.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Louis said, slipping out of his gloves and trapped them in his armpit, “And I remember you telling me about the new menu, so where else was I supposed to go? Hope I’m not distracting you.” He halted before the counter at the sight of Harry’s bruised neck. “Late night?”

Niall shook his head fervently behind Harry. The windows reflected his movements.

The rosiness fired up in Louis’ cheeks by the second. His grin faded. “You should turn down the heat in here. It’s sweltering.”

“I told him,” Harry said. He shrugged past Niall and seized a cloth from the counter.

“Here.” Louis stepped around to their side and grabbed the residual garlands from Niall’s hands. His jacket fell onto the stool, revealing animalistic tattoos on his evenly tanned skin.

In the shiny napkin holders, Harry eyed the purple dots on his throat. He looked like a poisonous fungi. They whitened when he jabbed them, filling up with colour the moment he removed the pressure. Footfalls echoed up to him before he could drown in the image. Louis’ shape grew in the napkin holder until it encompassed everything.

“Are you anxious about something?”

A hand slid into view, removing the napkin holder for better access to the table top. Harry fixed his gaze on the cloth as he began wiping.

“This is my happy face, can’t you tell?” he said. He stiffened when Louis sidled past him into the booth.

Louis reclined and tapped his nails against the metal. He opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” Harry said. He could still see the flash of blue eyes, how he curled into the couch and how his knuckles turned devoid of colour. “Stop bothering me. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Louis stood up. A sigh fell from Harry’s lips when he stepped out.

“I should put these up,” he said, rustling the garlands.

Harry watched the two of them from the corner. The creases in Niall’s forehead eased little by little and his talkative state returned. Most of the garlands ended up on their heads, or tangled around Louis’ slim physique. Bells jingled softly from the speakers while they wobbled on the stool.

Seven o’clock rolled around and the door to Mary’s Corner opened. The piles of snow had started waning since a few days back when a sudden torrent of heat hit London. A handful of daredevils strode into the shop with tank tops under their unzipped hoodies. They flocked amidst the room and pushed other customers to the windows by smashing keys on their laptops and slurping espressos.

Harry doodled in the spills of sugar on the counter. An abrupt voice jerked him up.

“Harry, latte!” Niall called. He had accompanied Louis, leaning over to the man’s table whenever he didn’t deal with customers. Every three seconds he threw glances at the clique of studying young adults, probably his classmates from UNI.

Both of Harry’s hands embraced the cup. Since no motive had been requested, he had left the coffee plain with a simple whirl into its middle.

“Did you know that we drink more tea than you do?” Niall said.

Louis took the latte with a grin. “’We’ being blond people?”

“Irish people! Irish people drink more tea per capita than you lot do.”

Though indignant, Niall observed Louis as he stirred and sipped from the cup. Harry paused in his steps to peer over.

“Brilliant,” Louis said, withdrawing from the cup, tapping his fingers to its side. “I love this place.” A foam moustache had assembled on his upper lip.

Niall cackled but soon broke off. “Oh, that reminds me.”

Harry and Louis watched him creep back in the kitchen. Foam dribbled from Louis’ chin. He wiped it off, held Harry’s gaze for a second as he carefully sipped.

More bells jingled in Harry’s ear. Giant elf hats sprouted into his face when he turned around with Niall’s face poking from behind it. Before he had time to protest, the fabric plummeted over his eyes and ears. Someone flicked the bell at the top of his hat.

“This can’t be mandatory to our uniforms,” he said.

“It’s a bonus,” Niall said, voice teetering on a snort.

“You didn’t like Christmas two hours ago.” Harry plucked the hat from his head and placed it on the table. It drooped. “I think I’ll use my break now.”

“Come on, sit down for a bit,” Louis said. “You haven’t even had lunch yet. Midday is far away.”

The phone burned in Harry’s pocket. It taunted him, tried to lure him towards inevitable peril. The call distanced itself from him. He feared that if he didn’t go at once he would let the chance vanish, abandon what little courage remaining. Louis’ fingers curled around his wrist before he could decide.

Tingling, he curled up on the far edge of the seat, whereas Louis draped over the booth. Harry dusted off his hands on the apron. He didn’t notice Niall returning to the till.

“Those hats are adorable,” Louis said, clutching his latte. His hair fuzzed. “They remind me of something I saw in Oslo.”

“You’ve been to Norway?”

“Beautiful country.” Louis held the cup to his nose. His eyes fluttered at the extensive inhale. “I did a bit of hiking far up north—terribly cold. Otherwise I was pining for the fjords.”

Harry stared. Louis’ eyes widened. His head tipped forward a little.

“Monty Python? No?” Louis smacked his lips. “All right. You’ve ever been abroad?”

For once, Harry was saddened to give a negative answer. “Never had the chance.”

“I’ll bring pictures sometime. They must be stuffed away somewhere.”

An unaware stiffness had thawed in Louis’ body. His motions had turned languid, his voice softer. A stillness that Niall never infused had settled with him.

Harry couldn’t stay.

“I’ve got to do a thing,” he said, stood up. “I need to call someone. Shouldn’t you be somewhere by now?”

“Perhaps,” Louis said. His lips curled slowly into a smile.

Harry retreated to his base behind the counter. He ducked past Niall, who discreetly sipped from his own cup while fumbling with the till. Niall had flour on his trousers because of a baking debacle earlier.

“Is he a housewife or something?” Harry said. Niall snorted and spilled tea over himself. Harry’s forehead creased, his eyes fixated on Louis. “He’s been here every day for a week. Doesn’t he work?”

Both peered towards the man, halfway into his coat. He brushed a few drops from his gloves as he rose from his seat.

“I honestly don’t know. Ask him.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry wedged a fag between his teeth and set off. Niall’s surprised squeak echoed in his head. He caught Louis before either had a chance to leave the shop.

“What do you work with?”

Louis’ head jerked up.

“I’m a barber, down south off Middle Street,” he said. “You should drop by sometime. Anyone would be lucky to get creative with that hair of yours.”

As Louis disappeared into the thawing city, Harry’s fingers pulled through the curls spilling over his bandana. He hurried out the back.

The phone weighed heavy in his palm. He stared at it without lighting the cigarette. He couldn’t call. He couldn’t bear the sound of that voice, rich and mild, whispering in his ear. Plucking the stick from his mouth, he fired off a message before he could change his mind.

_I fucked Nick._

Tears popped in his bottom lip from nibbling on the parched skin. His gaze flickered to the words, up to Liam’s name and back down. He had stood frozen for minutes when a reply came. He held his breath.

_Good for you. I’ve been fucking another girl for months._

The letters didn’t connect to Harry. Nothing of it sank in. He yearned for that remote intimacy, having something to fall back on, but when he fell it was into an asphyxiating void. No one was there to reach for him.

He flicked his lighter rapidly. Open and shut, without nearing its target.

How many nights, when Harry had laid awake, cuddling Baby with his gaze in the ceiling? He hadn’t sufficed. Liam left. Why had he stayed?

Harsh air bounded into his lungs as he inhaled sharply. His feet started trampling down the staircase. The city flashed by; cars in blurred lines on the street, people ducking out of his way, and his breath rasped in his ears.

The next moment Harry stood in his hallway. The cigarette had dropped somewhere along the path. The room swallowed up his wheezing. He treaded into the living room, eyes flickering under heavy lids, tracing every little sign of him that was left.

They fucked for the first time on that couch. The old lady a floor below had moved the week after. During a scorching summer evening, when the heat ate through Harry’s badly isolated walls, Liam had brought a picnic blanket and spread out over the floor. They huddled against his couch, sharing a bottle of cheap wine, fantasising words in _Scrabble_. Night ran out in morning light that dusted their skin. Harry had fallen asleep on his chest, had gauged bruises from his fingertips in the brittle dawn.

Harry stared at the window, the curtains that moved in the breeze. The few times he awoke first he would perch there, people-watching and spying for comical license plates on stagnant cars. Ever so slowly, a whiff of bacon would pervade the air. Arms would curl around him soon after, muscular, safe, and he’d relent.

He let the tears fall while he trembled, nails biting into his wrist. He had been in love. He was hopelessly in love.

The skies outside had succumbed to darkness when Harry neared the couch. Shadows welled out where the streetlights couldn’t reach through the grimy living room window. He picked up the hoodie hung there, thumbed across the vast black. Bumps appeared underneath his touch when he skimmed over the white letters. He bundled it in a fist.

On his way through the flat he snatched up leftovers—a journal filled with to do lists and game scores, briefs forgotten under the mattress, a printed photography shrouded in summer sun—and dumped them in the bathtub. He scanned the cupboard, knocking over a few bottles before seizing the aftershave. His knees hit the broken clinker as he emptied the bottle. The liquid sloshed up the edges of the tub and soaked the fabric and pages of the journal. He flicked his lighter over it.

Baby blinked up at him from the doorway. He smiled at her, ignored the quiver in his voice when he spoke.

“We’re okay.”

She stayed in the hallway. He turned back, allowed himself to drown in the crackling flames. Their faces crumbled to ashes in the photograph. Heat licked his face. Grieving and yearning left no place for regret or thought. It left no time to think things through. But then again, Liam made him anything but rational.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves x

Louis was an insistent nuisance.

When Harry finally managed to drag his ass into work, dressed in ripped sweatpants because he couldn’t give a damn to find anything else, Louis had already arrived. He was perched on a bar stool, chatting to Niall, who was mopping the floor. Nick was working cash all by himself, looking frantic, but Harry was too tired to go and help him.

He slid onto a stool beside Louis and said to Niall, “Can you make me a coffee?”

“Sure,” he replied. Only Louis caught his eye roll.

Niall leaned the mop against the counter and stepped behind it to make Harry a chocolate flavoured latte. He eyed the dark purple bags under Harry’s eyes and chose a large cup. He would need the caffeine.

“Thanks,” Harry said when Niall placed the cup down in front him. He took a sip and shivered at the bitterness.

“I put a shot of expresso in there,” Niall said, giggling at Harry’s sour expression. “I figured you could use the pick me up.”

“Long night?” Louis asked.

“You could say that.”

Niall picked up the mop up and went back to cleaning the floor. He swept away boot prints and cookie crumbs. Across the café, a coffee cup spilt all over the floor, and Niall groaned.

He thrust the mop at Nick.

“Can you clean that?” he asked. “I’ll take over cash.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You always make me clean.”

“That’s what you get being on the bottom here,” Niall bit back. He turned back to Harry and Louis. “He’s almost lazier than you, H, I swear.”

Harry didn’t smile.

“Who has plans tonight?” Louis asked.

Harry merely shrugged. He took a sip of his coffee and held the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds. It burned his tongue, but the pain felt good.

“Not me,” Niall replied.

“I never have plans,” Harry said bitterly. Louis shot Niall a look, but he shook his head.

“Well, how about the two of you come over?” Louis suggested. “My flatmate and I have awesome alcohol, and he has the best taste in music. It’ll be a good time.”

“I’m sold,” Niall said. Louis high fived him.

Harry shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“You don’t have to act like you’re too cool for friends, you know,” Louis said. He patted Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay to have a good time.”

Harry smiled, although his lips were pressed tightly together.

“All right,” he said, partially to get Louis off his back and partially because it had been too long since he’d had any new friends. “I’ll take you up on the offer.”

Louis grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Great. Be over at seven,” he said. He hopped off the bar stool and grabbed his coat. “Unfortunately, I’m needed at work. I’ll see you boys tonight.”

He pointed finger guns at them and walked backwards out the door. Niall chuckled and waved goodbye to him.

“See you later, Louis,” he called.

Bell dinging signalled his exit.  

“He’s here way too often,” Harry said. He propped his head on his fist.

“Louis’ cool,” Niall said. “Stop overthinking things. You do that too much.”

“We really need to start charging him for all the coffee he drinks.”

Niall shook his head, laughing. “Friends get in free. You should know, you’re the one who made the rule when Liam came around.”

Harry looked down.

“He didn’t drink nearly enough to put us out of business,” Harry said. “And can we not talk about Liam?”

“Sure, Harry.” Niall patted his back. The chime of the doorbell caught his attention. “I’m going to take that. Can you go check on the pastries I put in the oven?”

“Sure.”

Harry spent the rest of the day doing small tasks around the café. By the time it was closing time, his hands were stained white with flour and he smelt like dough. He looked like a mess. He didn’t want to go to Louis’ looking like this, but he didn’t have any other choice. It couldn’t be as bad as he was anticipating.

Niall found him in the kitchen, dangling his tattered winter coat.

“Ready to go?” he asked. “Louis’ flat awaits.”

Harry accepted his coat and shrugged it on. He toed at his boots and watched as fresh scuff marks appeared.

“Nick’s going to lock up,” Niall said. “Let’s get going.”

Harry followed him out. Niall wrapped a scarf around his neck and said his goodbyes to Nick. Harry stayed silent, toying with the loose thread hanging off his gloves. The fabric bunched between his thumb and index finger, and he ripped the thread clean off.

“Did you know the longest snowflake ever recorded was thirty eight centimetres wide?” Niall said.

“I did not.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief. “Good to know.”

“You don’t care, do you?” Niall asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You never do, but I can always tell.”

“All right.”

“Do you like Louis?” Niall asked. He was always full of questions, but today was almost unbearable. Harry could see why he and Louis got on so well.

Harry shrugged. “He’s cool. I don’t have much of an opinion of him.”

“He comes on strong, I know, but he’s not a bad dude,” Niall said. “Give him a chance, yeah? You’re so closed off. I know you get lonely.”

“I’m fine,” Harry snapped.

“Whatever you say.”

They fell silent. Harry stayed a few paces behind Niall, weaving between bare bushes covered in sharp ice and deep mounds of snow. Street lamps illuminated white dusted streets and shone light on headlights as they whizzed past.

“Having a car would be so useful,” Harry remarked.

“Don’t I know it,” Niall replied. “Louis’ flatmate has a car. I’ve never met the guy, but Louis always talks about how cool he is. I think he’s filthy rich but nothing has been confirmed.”

“Being rich would be cool,” Harry said. “Then walking everywhere would be a thing of the past and I could give my fat cat that weight loss food.”

Niall snorted. “But then there’d be less to love.”

“True.”

“Did you know that cats spend seventy percent of their days sleeping?” Niall said.

Harry thought of Baby and how she was always curled up on his shitty kitchen mattress. She was even lazier than he was, but his sleepiness could be blamed on insomnia like tendencies and not just lack of ambition.

“I believe it,” Harry answered. “My cat doesn’t do shit, but she’s good company.”

“What’s her name?” Niall asked.

“Baby.”

Niall laughed.

“That’s cute,” he said.

“You’re making fun of my cat’s name.” Harry frowned. It was half playful, more affectionate than he’d been in a long time.

It was fake. It was always fake.

“Course I am. Wouldn’t be a true friend if I didn’t make cracks at you from time to time,” Niall said. “Anyway, here we are: Louis’ flat.”

The complex was huge. Harry stared up at the building in awe. A ten story condo winded up into the sky. Rusted balcony railings with wreaths decorating them added a splash of colour to the sterile building.

“Come on.” Niall grabbed his arm and tugged him inside the building.

The heat was cranked on high. Harry pulled his coat down. The love bites Nick left on him were healing, faded blue bruises now instead of angry red. That didn’t stop Niall from chuckling when he saw them.

“I almost forgot about those,” he said. The lift dinged, and they stepped out. “You’re a total player.”

“I am not.”

“Tell that to your neck.”

They came to a stop in front of a bright blue door. It was the only one on the floor that had any colour apart from grey. A gold door knocker hung underneath the peep hole, and Niall reached out to bang it against the door.

“Coming!” Harry didn’t recognise the voice.

“That must be Louis’ roommate,” Niall said.

The door opened, and a young man filled the entrance. Harry’s jaw dropped at the same time Niall gasped. Standing in front of them was none other than Zayn fucking Malik.

“Can I help you?” Zayn said. He looked amused. “It’s a little early for carolling, don’t you think?”

Harry’s lips parted in surprise. He couldn’t speak.

“You’re Zayn Malik,” Niall whispered.

Zayn laughed. “I am. Let me guess, you’re Niall?”

“That’s me. This is Harry.” Niall gestured to him. “Louis invited us over for drinks.”

“Come in.” Zayn opened the door wider. “Louis’ getting himself dressed. He’ll probably be twenty minutes or so. He has no concept of being on time.”

“That’s okay, I’m used to it.” Niall shrugged and flopped down on the couch. Harry cringed. He stayed standing by the edge of it and watched Zayn and Niall settle in after dodging a small plant spilling over the backrest.

“Are you going to sit?” Zayn asked.

Harry shook his head. “I’m going to go have a smoke on the balcony, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine,” Zayn replied. “I’ll join you. I could use a smoke.”

Harry followed Zayn out to the balcony. A wreath hung from the railings, and Harry realised it was the same balcony he spotted from the road. Treading over the ice specks, he tensed up, grappling for his coat before realising he had left it behind on a chair. The pack of cigarettes weighed heavy in his pocket.

Harry pulled the pack out and offered it to Zayn. He accepted with a smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

Harry lit the cigarette. “No problem.”

His heart was beating fast. This was Zayn Malik, the model he had mooned over for months. He had magazines filled with photos of Zayn. Whenever he had extra free time at work he would guzzle tea and slouch over a tabloid back in the kitchen. It happened that he lost himself in the assortment of hairstyles, clothing brands and Instagram photos of locations wherever the model travelled, dreaming away from callous London in the meantime.

Yet Zayn had found himself here. In London. With Louis Tomlinson.

“It’s hard to quit, isn’t it?”

Zayn weaved the cigarette through the air. Smoke trailed after it in intricate patterns. After studying it, he slanted his head to Harry and tapped the stick.

Harry cleared his throat but remained silent. Voices chattered inside, Niall’s familiar chirping and an unknown cadence. Harry’s breath clouded by his mouth. His lips ghosted over his upper arm, trying to bring warmth.

“How’d you meet?” he said. “Did you get stuck here?”

Zayn leaned back over the railing, puffing towards the sky. The cold didn’t faze him.

“We did some modelling together down in Italy. Lou has the pictures somewhere—there are like fifty albums. I’m sure he could show you sometime.”

“You’re good at that,” Harry said, swallowing. “Modelling, I mean. Really good.”

Zayn sighed and flicked some snow off the railing. It spiralled into the city below, lost in rivers of grey.

“In—what, two years?—I’m gonna be happily married, probably have kids, so I have to reject your offer.” When Harry stiffened, mouth agape to excuse himself, Zayn patted his back. Harry almost tumbled off the balcony. “Relax. I appreciate the flattery. Louis thinks you’re swell, though.”

“Swell?” Harry chuckled once he regained his footing, his teeth clamped around the stick. He thumbed over the goose bumps on his arm. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Do you know how many times he’s mentioned that one curly-haired boy at the café? And _god_ that café. The least you can do is humour me, Harry.”

He didn’t want to. He hadn’t finished sorting his life out yet.

Neither realised the balcony door had opened until someone cleared their throat and brushed snow form the windowsill.

“Boys,” Louis said.

Once they’d reared their heads back his eyes flickered between them. His fingers trembled around the icy door handle. A pair of massive red socks clad his feet. A bit of stubble still shaded his jaw.

“Man,” Zayn countered.

“We’re going out for drinks in a bit,” Louis said. “Join us.”

Zayn’s cigarette fizzled out faster than a birthday candle. “Well, I’m in.”

Harry squirmed. Alcohol never suited him. It led to excessive smoking and talking, hospitals and hangovers. He wouldn’t stoop so low tonight as to embarrass himself further. He had felt enough shame to last the year.

“I can’t,” he said, avoiding direct eye contact with Louis. Not that Louis didn’t do the same. Eyes burnt into the love bites, just for a bit, before softening on Harry’s face again.

Louis dropped the handle and crossed his arms tight over his chest.

“Niall’s coming,” he said. “Not coaxing you, or anything, but it’ll be good fun.”

“Do you never eat anything? You’re always out to drink.”

The cold coloured Louis’ nose in bright red. He smiled. “Leftovers are in the fridge if you want some before you go. We’ll stay in another ten minutes.”

Harry stared after him as he went.

Zayn shook his head with a sigh. “He’s really fond of you, you know.”

This time, he accepted the silence Harry replied with.

Harry declined when Louis offered him leftover chicken. Niall accepted and thus splattered sauce over his trousers. Whilst he fussed over the mess and the others reassured him that it was nothing to worry about, Harry huddled into the couch. From across the room he spotted his coat, neatly folded on the kitchen table, and a shiver ran through him. The aroma of firewood pierced the air, and for a second he wondered if they had a fireplace in the flat. His toes curled in a shiver.

Compulsively he checked his phone. A couple of missed phone calls from Nick appeared on the screen along with some event he had ignored. Christmas-themed spam filled his inbox with useless offers.

He didn’t want to fool himself. Instead of idly scrolling, he took the shortcut to Liam’s profile, still with the picture of Liam at a friend’s bachelor party, suited up. Harry’s finger hovered over the message button. Despite the conversation around him, his heartbeat echoed in the room. It stank of burning journals and aftershave.

A one week old status update caught his eye. Behind a retro filter, Liam’s scruff pressed to someone’s swollen belly where one of his hands splayed out in a loving caress. Christmas lights twinkled in the background, and a woman’s face peeked at the top of the photo, her smile just as radiant. Her neon nails raked through Liam’s hair.

Harry couldn’t tell if the conversation was still going in the room, or if he was screaming, if there was any sound at all. He was back on the balcony, just slipping over the railing trying to find footing, or watching the flames die out in his tub. Nothing he did meant shit. He could jump and people would only wonder why something had dented the pavement.

_Daddy to be! :) :)_

“Harry?”

Niall leaned into his field of vision, waving in front of his face.

“We’re heading out now. You wanna grab some food or…?”

A woman loomed in the hallway, fuzzy-haired and pierced; the one Niall had conversed with from the looks of it. She’d been glimpsed in many magazines by Zayn’s side, girlfriend Anna Cadwallader. Zayn and Louis were already discussing last night’s game out in the stairwell.

Niall waved again. He put a cautious hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“I’ll join you,” Harry said, bounded up from the couch and swirled out to the stairs clad in his worn coat. He found himself shouldering Zayn on their stroll down, though the model paid little mind to anything other than Louis’ wild gestures.

Sneakers clicked behind Harry on the stained vinyl.

“How are you?” Niall said over his shoulder. He tapped Harry on the back when he didn’t receive an answer.

“Swell. Bet they’ve got good drinks. I need some.”

“Y-yeah…” Niall coughed as they exited the building, shocked by the change in atmosphere. He accidentally fisted Harry’s coat and tugged him behind the line of people. Harry spun around with a glare. Niall recoiled.

“Is that, you know… Is that a good idea?”

“You’re the one who reminds me every day of how much I need to leave the flat. Make up your mind.”

Niall peeked up at him, adjusting the massive woollen scarf around his head. He couldn’t think of an answer.

“Carpe diem, Niall.”

 

❄

 

Once Louis kicked off a drinking game, getting drunk was the least of Harry’s problems. The barmen emptied their pockets and cleaned rounds and rounds of shots from their table. Zayn shacked up with Anna in the corner of their booth, a mess of tangled limbs and drunken puns. The seat swallowed Niall up where he sat next to them clutching a pint. Foam coated his upper lip as his eyes pivoted around the room for a getaway.

Their faces contorted and elongated in Harry’s mind. His arms spanned the entire table. From the moment they got off the balcony to now where he bridled his nausea, Zayn’s words had echoed through his head. It didn’t help that Louis had his legs kicked up on the seat and his back to the wall, studying Harry through drooping lids and a diffuse smile. Grime scraped from his shoes onto Harry’s jeans. Paired with a dirty mouth and a healthy liver, Louis fit right in with the setting. He was smooth, secure, brazen. Harry drank him in shamelessly.

“You haven’t had any in a while,” Louis drawled, hand flicking to the throne of tiny glasses.

“My head’s fucking me up,” Harry said. He was halfway out of his left boot. It dangled under the table and gave way for air to cool his sweaty socks. The tickling sensation stirred a grunt from him.

“Do you want pills?”

Harry frowned, easing his hand across the table top to a glass still bearing liquid.

“I don’t know,” he said and downed it. Even when he let it rest on his tongue and soak, he couldn’t tell what it was.

“You’re adorable. Guess we shouldn’t order another round? I should’ve learnt by now, because Niall can’t stomach anything.” His clear laugh smouldered in Harry’s chest. He held up a finger and tipped his head to the other side of the table. “Niall!”

At the sudden call, Niall flew from his seat and spattered beer over his hand. Shaking it clean, he gawked at Louis.

“Want to put some more on the tab or are you good?”

Niall shrunk and clutched his drink again. “I’m good. The pint’s good.”

Louis gave a toothless grin. The glasses clinked whilst he shifted positions to an upright stance by Harry’s side. Feet prodding on the floor, kicking at Harry’s lost boot, Louis slanted his entire body towards the man.

“I’d love to meet your cat someday,” he said. “What’s it called?”

“Baby. Got her when I still lived at home.”

“Baby! Oh, that’s precious.”

He kept on talking, running his finger over the rim of a bottle, but Harry’s thoughts strayed. Concealed in the corner, Zayn and Anna snogged with brief interruptions for conversation, enthralled by each other. Her leg jutted into Niall’s side. Beer continued to slosh over in his pint as he shook with the motions. He fixed his gaze on the remaining liquid like it could save him.

Once he became aware of his own turmoil, Harry scooted up closer to Louis.

He squeezed the man’s thigh, stayed to feel the muscle twitch. “You look really hot tonight.”

The dopey grin from before returned to Louis’ lips. The cheap spotlights from the stage twinkled in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said. Then, in return, “I like your bruises.”

“Is it a kink, or something?”

Without permission, Louis’ fingertips filled out the love bites. The dull pain thrummed through Harry like a siren’s call.

“Felt good, didn’t it?”

The fingers pressed down in petite circles. Harry’s head lolled to the side. One hand instinctively settled on the back of Louis’ head as his eyelids fluttered. Hanging between being anchored to the earth and floating at the touch, Harry pawed free, blinking through a daze. Someone hollered to Adele by the open mike, quitting halfway to hide yesterday’s meal in a nearby plant. Harry just barely registered the retches.

“Wanna make some more?” he said.

Louis’ eyebrows shot up, though his eyes held the same cool glint as always. Interest tweaked the corner of his mouth. The sheen of control in his eyes dripped off and went without a trace when Harry’s lethal touch danced up his bicep.

“Come with me,” Harry said, made sure to let his palm linger before he stood up. Niall’s desperate look paled as they took off through the scarce crowd. The soft skin of Louis’ hand bumped into Harry’s, still without the guts to fully interlock, not crossing that line. Flaps of skin coated the back of Harry’s hand, like crumbs left by the winter, but Louis didn’t mind when Harry tugged him along and they breathed the same stale air.

Past a formerly bordered steel door, they found a hidden recess of the pub. It stank of piss and last week’s detergent and pushed away the trail of sandalwood-scented cologne Louis had masked himself with. Whatever pools they stumbled through, the gelid liquid squirted up Harry’s calf.

Forlorn lights pushed into the toilets. Draped in golden streaks, they occupied a stall, hands grappling and moans muffling in a meshed kiss. It became harder to distinguish Louis’ words from Nick’s, from Liam’s, so Harry swaddled him tightly in his arms. Mops toppled over them as they jerked into a cleaning bucket.

“Wrong stall,” Harry announced. Louis snorted into his chest.

No one could see them where they stumbled to one of the empty cubicles. A toilet seat poked into Harry’s thigh whilst Louis yanked at his clothes. Red marks appeared on his skin from the strain.

“Didn’t think you’d ever let me in,” Louis said.

Not one garment had come off when he gave up. He shimmied out of his own clothes until he stood in just his jeans and a tee, chest heaving.

Harry took him in and swallowed. “You just had to ask.”

“I’m asking now.”

Fingers curled around the hem of Harry’s jeans. Wide blue eyes blinked at him. His heartrate picked up, arousal sweltering in his guts. A quiet _please_ fell from his lips.

Focusing on anything but the creases of pleasure in Louis’ face or the wistful sighs was impossible. Harry stared into the sullen wall and the forgotten phone numbers scrawled there, jerking as quickly as possible without ripping Louis from his haze. Another hand joined him, warm and sly.

“Wish I could’ve talked to you sooner,” Louis said. His lean body quivered against Harry’s. “Wish I’d done a lot of things.”

Pineapple streaked through the stall. Banishing the stench of piss, it encompassed them.

An impish look flashed over Louis’ face. “What if someone came in?”

“I’d make you scream.”

His head plummeted to Harry’s chest in a breathy chuckle and guided their hands in a quicker rhythm.

Harry couldn’t tell their limbs apart. He latched on, caught sight of the black marks. A proud stag sprawled over Louis’ upper arm with a heart between its horns. It stared at him as Louis squeezed closer, fisting his translucent shirt. Below it was an intricate compass.

He didn’t realise their pace had lulled until Louis spoke up.

“You like them?”

Mixtures of ice and fire licked down his chest when his shirt opened up. Louis handled the buttons with outmost delicacy.

Harry swallowed.

“They’re gorgeous.”

A kiss landed between his clavicles. Another one right beneath. Harry’s head spun at the gentle nature. It didn’t add up with his intentions.

With a faint lilt, Louis said, “Want me to kiss you down there too?”

Before given the chance, Harry slanted his chin up. Kissing Louis offered him little clarity. He couldn’t speak. Maybe that was good. He hadn’t trusted himself in a while. He still moved on his toes at the café, in case Nick would question his actions, or face him with the ignored calls. Each time he visited his flat, intimate memories invaded him. Whatever he did, he was trapped. He had to stop repeating himself.

They trembled together through the finish. Tender words escaped Louis’ mouth but Harry couldn’t hear what he said. He found himself gawking at the scene they had created. The nausea came onto him in full force.

White coated the bottom of Louis’ black tee. He furled back into himself. Every little ounce of energy he had mustered up wafted off in the dead night. He could only imagine what he must look like now.

In the gloom, Louis’ eyes were as bright as the sun. They rested on Harry, slowly sinking below furrowed brows whilst he cooled off again.

“Harry—“

He moved on autopilot. One beat and he launched from the stall. Two and he snaked through the pub with his heartbeat louder than sirens. Three and he was back at the table where Niall had fallen asleep and Zayn coddled a delirious Anna. Someone had cleared away their glasses. Somehow he snatched his outwear without being caught.

Out on the street he stopped, soaking in his self-loathing. A dull headache thrummed in his skull. He set off in the least crowded direction, blinded by snowfall and cheery restaurant signs. The rough ground battered his feet through thin soles. Just attempting to process how fucked everything had turned out hurled his guts around.

He couldn’t remember where he slept that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next week we delve into exposed life stories, hangovers and morning cuddles x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Louis continues to hate Nick, some sexual tension is solved and reborn, and lifestories are spilled. Happy reading x

For being an experienced drinker, Louis hadn’t expected the physical backlash of last night. Night fused with the grey dawn while he tangled in ashen sheets. Several times he had dry-heaved, crawled to the edge of the bed and contemplated his life choices. He had watched the clouds swallow the sun and the slivers of light on his wall dulling. He hadn’t spoken since, not having the will to move from bed to grab a glass of water or the courage to face his flatmates with their questions.

Within reach of his bed-zone he had discovered an early collection of photo albums. His first trips only had single photographs—if even that. He had begun collecting seriously after working as a tourist guide in Scotland. In some pockets of the album he had stuffed notes instead.

Now and then he would stray from the albums and his gaze would catch on last night’s white-dotted tee where it hung on the back of a chair.

Harry stank. No amount of cologne could cover that up. Louis tried to rationalise—Harry had only brought trouble, it would be more painless to let it go—but it had never been his strong suit. Harry’s dead eyes had been imprinted behind his eyelids.

He took a fistful of the pooling duvet around him and cocooned himself. Though the hot fabric suffocated him, he tugged it closer. The polyester offered little consolation. He surfaced with more stress than he’d had diving in.

On cue, knuckles rapped to the door. Anna’s locks flickered in the doorway. Steam soared from a cup of coffee squeezed in her elbow. When she neared, Louis caught sight of the pills in her hand.

“Afternoon remedy coming up,” she said.

They sat together for a while. After suffering through multiple grimaces, the fog in Louis’ head began to lift. Anna laid an arm around him when he lapped at his coffee.

“Harry’s cute,” she said.

Louis wondered how much she had seen of them last night, where she was all wrapped up in Zayn. Surprisingly few conversations about Harry had taken place during their taxi ride home, and he couldn’t recall those that had.

“Did he say anything?” Louis said.

“When?”

“Right before Zayn wanted to sing Mariah Carey? He must’ve grabbed his coat.”

“I didn’t see him.” She dusted the residual white powder from her palm. Louis slanted his head away to the wall streaked in light. A tender hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing, but it didn’t comfort him like it should have. He sipped his drink.

Even though he was sure she could sense his answer, Anna said, “Want to talk about what happened?”

He shook his head in thought, lips pursed. He hadn’t slept properly, maybe Harry hadn’t either, and he knew it would be wiser to wait, but…

“I should talk to him. I’ll head down to the café after breakfast.”

“Lunch,” Anna pointed out, brushing a lock from his forehead. He keened. “Zayn’s out there if you wanna suffer through the painkillers together. I had mine at seven. He’s been cuddle-starved lately.”

Louis nodded, taking it in. The minimal movement made his head ache. Anna’s absence due to her hectic work schedule had certainly taken a toll on Zayn. Surely the company would do him good. Louis wanted some attention right about then, too.

“We’ll have a cuddle,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the living room. “You going out or something?”

“Yeah.” She frowned miserably. She placed her fingers to her temples and rubbed in slow circles. “Work called, I’m needed. Never go into the construction industry. The hours are crazy.”

“Why’d you want to be an electrician anyway?” He asked.

Anna shrugged. “I wish I knew. I would do something else, if it weren’t for the pay. God knows we need the money for all of Zayn’s photoshoots.”

Louis hummed. He pulled her in for a quick hug, and after a quick kiss on the cheek as a goodbye, he joined Zayn on the couch. He was slumped against the cushions, deep pout on his face. Louis slid in beside him, easing Zayn’s head onto his lap.

“You look terrible,” Zayn said.

“You don’t look much better,” Louis responded dryly. He twisted his fingers in Zayn’s soft locks, gently scratching at his scalp with his nails. Zayn sighed in appreciation.

“Where did Anna go?” he asked.

“Work,” Louis said. “She said she’ll be home by six. She’ll pick up something to eat on the way home.”

Zayn groaned. “I do not want to eat right now.”

“I hear you.” Louis tucked his feet underneath himself and grabbed at his forehead. His temple throbbed. It might as well have stood a little man with a drill on his forehead.

“This is Niall’s fault,” Zayn said. “He convinced me to drink those extra shots. I should have known I could never out drink him. Those damn Irishmen. They can never be beat.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at him. “Speaking from experience?”

Zayn laughed, but it degenerated into a loud hacking fit. Louis patted his back as his coughs turned into a pitiful whine.

“Don’t you remember our photoshoot in Ireland?” Zayn asked. “You went back to the hotel and I went off and got drunk with that boy I was modelling with. I tried to out drink him. I threw up all over his shoes and he got crowned champion. Bullshit if you ask me, but what can you do?”

“Niall’s a bit odd,” Louis said. “Full of useless facts.”

“Oh, I know,” Zayn said, paired with an eye roll. “The guy tried to tell me about the history of beer the whole night. You sure he’s sane?”

Louis cracked a grin. “Pretty sure.”

They fell silent. Zayn nuzzled his head into Louis’ thigh and closed his eyes. Louis leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Zayn smiled gratefully. Part of Louis wished Harry would be here to cuddle his headache, but he could have none of that.

He wondered what it was that had made Harry’s eyes look so dull. He finally got a taste of what he had wanted since they met and he had tried to make it good, had tried to be the best that Harry had ever had, but he knew once he saw the look in Harry’s eyes that this wasn’t the case. He wished he knew what he had done so he could fix it.

Zayn looked up at him. “You’ve gone quiet?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Louis’ cheeks flamed, and he blushed. “Just thinking.”

“About Harry?” Zayn asked.

Louis cursed under his breath. How well Zayn knew him was occasionally a downside, like when it felt like Zayn was reading his mind.

“About Harry,” Louis affirmed. He didn’t want to give too much away. It felt like if he spoke about what they did to each other the night before then it wouldn’t feel so intimate; that it wouldn’t be real.

 “He left pretty early last night. I noticed when Anna gave me this that he wasn’t around.” Zayn pointed to the massive hickey on his neck.

Louis pursed his lips. “Impressive.”

He wished that Harry had left marks on him. He wanted to press on them and feel the sting so he could remember the way Harry’s hands felt on his skin.

“Did something happen last night?” Zayn asked.

Louis shrugged. “Lots of things. You lost a drinking contest to Niall, Anna gave you that hickey, and Harry and Niall practically pissed their pants when they met you.”

“How did you know that last part?”

“Niall told me,” Louis said.

“Of course he did.” Zayn snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t caught on. I know you’re deflecting, but I’m a good enough friend to know that it’s not my place to ask right now.”

Louis patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’ve got everything under control?” Zayn asked. He was always concerned for him. Louis appreciated it more than he let on.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to go see him later. If it goes downhill I’ll need your expert advice, though.”

Zayn shook his head fondly. “What else is new?”

“Because you’re the relationship genius.” Louis patted him on the cheek. Zayn shot him a glare. “Don’t know how you got Anna to fall for you, let alone keep her, but you did good.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’m a catch, Louis, don’t you know this? Girls and guys alike want to fuck me.”

“It comes with the job.” Louis protested. He slid out from under Zayn and pulled his shirt down. “I’m going to go see Harry now. You want me to bring you back anything?”

“Coffee,” Zayn said. “An extra-large coffee with all the caffeine you can talk Niall into putting in there.”

“Can do,” Louis replied. “I’m going to get changed and head out. I’ll be home in a bit. My phone will be on if you need anything.”

“Good luck,” Zayn said. He curled up on the couch and shut his eyes, hands tucked under his head. Louis laid a blanket over him and Zayn smiled gratefully, though his eyes remained closed. 

Louis smelt like alcohol and vaguely of vomit. This wouldn’t suffice. He weakly pulled his shirt over his head and shucked his pants off so he was standing in his boxers. The cool air nipped at his skin. He needed to change his underwear, but he was too tired. He didn’t give a shit about how his hair looked, either. He mostly wanted to sleep for the next year.

Louis settled on a black sweater and a pair of tight fitted track pants. He didn’t look like complete trash, but he didn’t look overly attractive either. He was comfy, but put together enough to show Harry that he did care, that he was trying.

The snow had dried up overnight from a bout of rain, leaving only patches of white on the sidewalks and slush on the roads. Louis didn’t feel like walking. He’d probably drop dead if he tried. He called a cab instead. He didn’t trust his legs.

The café welcomed him with the smell of cinnamon and soft music. He spotted Harry by the cash. He looked as exhausted as Louis felt. He didn’t see Niall, but he could hear him singing along with the radio. Louis figured he was in the kitchen. Niall did always love to sing while he baked.

Louis took a seat at the counter. Harry barely spared him a glance before he set down a mug of coffee in front of him.

“I put some espresso in there,” he said. “If your hangover is as bad as mine you’ll surely need it.”

“Thanks.”

Louis smiled at him. Harry didn’t return it.

“Is Nick here?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “He called in sick. He won’t be in today.”

Louis grinned.  _Perfect_.

“Are we okay?” he asked.

Harry didn’t respond. The silence felt suffocating. Louis was at a loss for words. He cared about Harry more than he wanted to admit. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

Louis pushed back his stool and went behind the counter. Harry looked up at him in surprise when he laid a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to push Louis away but he was frozen in place.

“Harry, are we okay?” Louis asked again. “Are  _you_ okay?”

Harry barely managed to nod. Louis couldn’t help himself from brushing his fingertips over the back of his hand. His skin was so soft. Louis want to feel him everywhere.

Harry looked up at him with wide eyes. He swallowed hard, unable to look away. Louis was falling for him. He was falling so hard. He was so fucked.

The chime of the doorbell brought Harry back to his senses. He shrugged Louis off of him and turned to the customer waiting at the cash register. He stuttered his way through taking her order, feeling Louis’ heavy gaze on him.

He turned his back to Louis and filled up two cups with black coffee. He was lucky it was a simple order. He doubted he’d be able to concentrate on anything complicated when Louis was watching him so intently.

“Have a good day,” Harry said as he passed the cups to the woman. She smiled at him and left to meet a man by the door. Harry figured it was her boyfriend, considering the way she didn’t hesitate to hold his hand.

“You don’t look okay,” Louis said.

Harry shot him a glare. “I’m fine. Go bother Niall or something. I’m working.”

Louis sighed. He lifted his hand to rub Harry’s shoulder, but he thought better of it when he saw his face. Harry looked so exhausted. Louis wanted to hold him and make everything better, but he knew it would take more than a few sweet words to make his pain go away.

“See you later,” Louis said. He turned away from Harry without any resistance from him. Louis’ heart clenched in disappointment.

He pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Niall was by the oven, swaying his hips to the Christmas songs playing from the radio. Louis watched him for a few moments, amused.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Niall jumped. His head smacked off the shelf above him and he groaned.

“I was,” he said.  _Santa Baby_  was playing through the speakers. Niall turned down the volume and rubbed his head. A bump was sure to form. “What brings you by? I figured you’d be in bed all day.”

“I wish I was, but I came by to talk to Harry,” Louis replied.

“I see.” Niall took the tray of muffins out of the oven and set them on the counter. He offered one to Louis, who accepted gratefully. “How did that go?”

“Not well,” Louis told him truthfully. He picked at the top of the muffin, popping blueberries into his mouth. “He sort of pushed me away.”

Niall patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll come around. He might just need some space.”

“You’re probably right.” Louis looked out the window. A squirrel sat perched on the sill.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Niall asked. “We could go to my place.”

Louis had never been to Niall’s before. In fact, the only time they had seen the inside of one of their flats was just yesterday. Louis’ curiosity was struck.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They snuck out the back, careful not to alert Harry. Cool air nipped at their cheeks. They walked along together, singing Christmas tunes. Louis giggled into his scarf, shoving Niall playfully.

They stumbled into his flat, snickering together. Louis kicked off his shoes and hung his coat on the rack. He collapsed on the couch and finally looked around. Niall’s flat was packed full of books. They lined the shelves, cluttered the tables. Louis pursed his lips, impressed.

“You’ve got quite the collection,” he said.

Niall pulled him to his feet. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Louis followed him into another room, and his jaw dropped in awe. The room was filled to the brim with books. Louis breathed in deep and was rewarded with the smell of ink.

“I like that smell,” Niall said. “It’s comforting.”

“Yeah, this is really cool.”

Niall pulled a book of the shelf and passed it to Louis. Louis ran his fingers over the cover, the battered binding on the spine. The book was heavy in his hands.

“That was my brother’s favourite,” Niall said, breaking the silence. Louis looked over at him. “He sent it over from Ireland a few years ago.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Louis said. “How come he never comes to visit?”

Niall sucked in a deep breath. “He can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s in prison.”

Louis’ head snapped up. He stared at Niall helplessly, unsure if he had heard him right. His lips parted in surprise. Niall scoffed and walked out of the room.

“Niall!”

Louis trailed after him, book forgotten on the shelf. He found Niall collapsed on the couch, his feet tucked underneath him. Tears pooled in his eyes, the thinnest of sheens.

“I don’t get like this, usually,” Niall said. He shook his head. “He hasn’t been on my mind in ages.”

Muted sniffles sounded from where his face pressed into the couch. Grabbing a crumpled piece of paper from the coffee table, he dabbed at his eyes, slanting his head away whilst Louis slid down next to him. He downed the residual water in a cognac glass.

Louis took away the empty container before Niall let it shatter against the floorboards.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he said. “I’ll listen. Take your time.”

Picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion, Niall spoke.

“My brother was not a good person,” he said. “He used to drink a lot. He got into bar fights a lot, but it went too far one night. He was really drunk, and the fight went way too far. He beat the guy to death.”

“Jesus,” Louis muttered. Whatever folk Niall was related to, murderers wasn’t at the top of Louis’ list.

“I know what’s going through your head. He’s—he’s not a bad guy. I love him,” Niall said. “Just wishing he could visit, you know? All my cash goes to UNI and this flat and the family is always up to something. He sends me stuff sometimes, though. Like the book. Apparently he’s popular behinds bars as well.”

At the back of Louis’ mind hammered the thoughts of Harry’s family. Maybe he had siblings as well? Did they ever visit?

Niall curled up in the corner of the seat, biting on a hangnail. Louis disregarded the questions.

“Are you missing him?” he said.

“I don’t know. It’s always been weird with him. He’s my big brother. He knows me inside out.”

After another brief water break, Niall ventured down memory lane in a voice too solemn to be his. Louis tried to listen, but his thoughts derailed constantly. He couldn’t focus on anything. Guilt rose like bile in his throat while he blinked, rubbed his temples. Nothing worked.

“Has Harry always been this sad?” Louis asked.

Niall paused halfway through his retelling of a precious memory. “He’s been sad since I met him.”

Louis got off the couch with a pat to his back. “I need to go see him. I need to make things right. Do you have his address?”

Niall sighed. He grabbed Louis’ phone and typed the address into his notes.

“Go get him,” he said.

“Thanks, Niall.” Louis ruffled his hair. “I’m really sorry about your brother. I’ll invite myself over real soon and we can continue this, yeah? I really am sorry.”

Niall blew his nose with the tear-stained paper. He gave a stiff smile.

A million thoughts congested Louis’ brain, a million different outcomes and dialogues. Nothing said that Harry wanted to have this discussion with him. For all he knew, Harry wouldn’t open the door when he rang the bell. Or he would, and Louis would fix their emotional debacle with a few well-delivered lines and gather the gaunt man in his arms. There was also an outcome where Harry would open the door and, as Louis’ lips parted, sock him in the jaw.

He had yet to decide on the least shitty possibility when he wandered through the rugged neighbourhood. He couldn’t see Harry living here. People lurked in the alleys, boisterous men crowded the pubs. Harry’s flat lay opposite one of those pubs. Though it had just passed seven, the sound of glass breaking trickled out on the street. Louis hurried indoors.

The rickety stairwell spiralled up like in a children’s fantasy novel. Holes popped up frequently in the wood, offering hideouts for mice and cockroaches.

On the top floor of the compressed building, Louis paused to assemble himself. His hammering hangover had settled down and he had. It couldn’t get better than this.

He went to ring the doorbell only to find it in a mess of snapped chords and skew plastic. He knocked. Harry opened.

Not much had changed since earlier that day—the bags under Harry’s eyes remained and he walked with a crooked back—but a small crease of confusion graced his forehead at the sight in the stairwell. He waited for an explanation.

“Harry, you’re not alone,” Louis said. He grabbed desperately at Harry’s hands and pulled him closer. Harry let him. “I’m here now, and I’m not going to go anywhere. I know you’re sad, but you don’t have to be sad alone.”

Harry stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Louis’ neck. They staggered into the hallway. The door slammed shut. He leaned in so close that Louis could feel the brush of Harry’s lips when he spoke.

“We’re okay,” Harry murmured. “Now shut up and fuck me.”

“Pardon?”

“Louis.” A searing kiss encompassed his throat. He relented. “Please.”

Lost in the shy pleasure, Louis guided a hand through Harry’s locks. They floated like silk between his fingers. Harry was everywhere on him with one touch.

“Of course,” he said, back arching. “God, you’re so beautiful, Harry. I missed you.”

Quiet whimpers spilled from Harry’s mouth.

Spellbound, Louis toed off his shoes and drank him in on their way through the flat. They fell down on a mattress in the kitchen. As Harry rolled on top of him, Louis fixated his gaze in the ceiling, eyelids twitching. One of the springs drilled into his lower back.

The bite lifted from his neck while Harry sat back on his thighs and stripped down to nothing but a pair of ripped jeans. Pallid light spilled through the drawn curtains and into the hollows of Harry’s ribcage. Faint muscles silhouetted on his arms as he braced them over Louis’ head. Before Louis could gawk, he had dived back down, hips bucking.

There was something jittery about the way he moved, passionately gauche. Louis propped himself up on his elbows when Harry fiddled with his belt. He pulled the man in by the chin, licking deep into his mouth. Harry unwound with each slow rub.

“I missed you,” Louis whispered against his puffy lips.

The mattress scraped across the floor as they undressed, lips slipping apart and connecting. Harry draped them in a sheer blanket to fight the cold. His shivers trembled through Louis’ palms where they caressed his chest.

Buried deep inside him, Louis swallowed every little bit Harry gave him. From the curve of his chest towards the ceiling, to the sweltering urgency of his kisses, to the way he nudged into Louis’ tender hand cupped on his cheek. Harry didn’t speak much, but his guttural noises made up for the absence of speech.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We would like to thank everyone who has made it this far into the story (almost halfway through!) and wish a happy continuation. If you're wondering anything you can message us on tumblr (felinophilia.tumblr.com/ask or braveryboyfriends.tumblr.com/ask) or leave a question in the comments :)
> 
> This chapter contains minor drug use. Happy reading x

The mellow morning displayed Harry’s flat in marred furniture and chipped walls.

With half his body stowed under a blanket, Louis glanced around the kitchen, with its grey décor and gaping floorboards. Multiple springs now jutted into his back. He rubbed his naked arm, up his throat. When brushing a sore bite, he stilled at the faint pinch that drizzled through his body.

His chest glowed at the remembrance of Harry. Twisting on the mattress, he searched for the lump of warmth he kissed to sleep the night before. Nothing lay next to him other than another flimsy blanket. He vaguely recalled Harry getting up to fetch it after shivering in his arms.

A stench of smoke permeated the flat. Louis rolled to the side of the mattress, the springs jumping in his wake, and grabbed his underpants. He cocooned himself in the blanket before entering the living room.

Harry poised a cigarette between his fingers where he perched on the back of the couch. People flurried on the streets below, packaged pies and ginormous shopping bags in hand. His eyes followed every movement. His matt hair sprouted in every possible direction, though he had visibly tried to pat it down. Bare knees poked from a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. A barely buttoned flannel hid his chest.

Louis wanted to join him, maybe even sip from the same stick, huddle under the small blanket. He had never wanted anyone so badly.

“Morning.”

It took a moment before Harry slanted his head back, caught up in relishing the bitter tar.

“Hi,” he said, his eyes lingering on the tattoos. They flamed under the weight of his attention.

Louis sighed, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s cheek. When he withdrew, Harry chased his touch briefly.

“Did you manage to get any sleep?” Louis said.

“Some. I was pretty exhausted.”

“So was I.”

Louis examined him while he put out the cigarette in a broken cup on the windowsill. Despite tapping the pack, flipping it in his palm, he didn’t open it again.

There should be a procedure on how to deal with morning afters, Louis figured, other than gawking at your partner in the dead morning, other than mapping out the spots where you touched the night before. He was not aware of such a procedure. The creaks of the couch as Harry huddled up under the cold sufficed. The bed hair and hoarse voice were more than enough.

Louis smiled to himself. Giving a brief glance to his toes, he regained his composure.

“Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

Harry lit another cigarette. “Fuck?”

“I really enjoyed last night. But I meant being like this. Hanging out.”

“Maybe.”

A shy growl came from Louis’ stomach. Even Harry cocked an eyebrow at the sound.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast,” Louis said. “I _can_ make breakfast, right?”

“Yeah. Good luck.”

Louis traced the slope of Harry’s collarbones between the flaps of flannel. His heart beat itself into pieces. He stepped closer and leaned into him. Just then, Harry took another drag, slanted his head down. Louis’ kiss melted on his forehead.

The refrigerator was as much of a debacle as the stove. Louis could have sworn he had heard it dripping once Harry had fallen asleep. With sober eyes, he could now confirm his suspicions. That breakfast would be served at all was a questionable fact.

An opened package of bacon lay in the refrigerator, passed their expiration date with half a week. Next to it, Louis found two small eggs and some rotten lettuce. He spared the greens.

The frying pan crackled as he placed it on the stove. Bits of charred food stuck to its body and when he grasped it his fingers slipped on old grease. While his hands were soiled, he cracked the eggs.

An acrid scent banned the stench of cigarettes as the kitchen fan rattled. He hummed while he cooked, throwing a glance to Harry every once in a while. Forgotten Christmas carols found their way into the flat from the streets. They made him sigh, his heart fluttering.

He dressed himself and plucked the sticky bacon from the pan, finding two untarnished plates to serve on. He refrained from looking at the meal as he handed over one of them to Harry.

“Your stove gave up on me,” he said, poking the charred edges with a fork.

“Not so much luck, then.”

Louis chuckled. “Guess not.”

They ate in silence on the couch. Harry gave up three bites in whereas Louis fought on. The taste made his tongue knot and stick to the roof of his mouth. More than his gut churned. His eyes caught on the wall clock by the bathroom door.

“That can’t be right.”

“It’s stopped,” Harry said.

Louis got off the couch. “One sec.”

He skimmed the blankets and clothing around the mattress in search of his phone. When he found the device, he discovered that time had ticked away to half past nine.

Running his hand through his hair, he returned to Harry.

“I’m super late for work,” he said. “I’ll drop by Mary’s soon, yeah? I want to take you out sometime.”

Harry turned around to see him leave, putting out the cigarette on the plate of charred bacon.

 

❄

 

Mr Liebermann was a tactful man. Visible indignity or distress was a foreign language to him and his extensive forehead never bore any creases. He couldn’t get in touch with smiles and laughter, yet handled the shop’s customers with excellence and kept up the Caterpillar Barbershop’s reputable standards.

It was a miracle that Louis had lasted this long.

“We’re letting you go, Louis. I don’t think this is the job for you. I have no choice but to terminate your employment.”

Louis should have seen it coming, yet his face still twisted up in surprise.

“What? Why?” he said.

Mr Liebermann sighed. “Louis, you’re never here. Customers keep complaining about you consistently cancelling their appointments. You show up hours let and then leave partway through your shift. You’re unreliable. You’re lazy. Not to mention your customer service skills are horrid.”

Louis frowned. “That’s not true. I’m good at talking to people.”

“Then maybe you should get a job where those skills can be utilized, considering you are no longer allowed to work here,” Mr Liebermann said. “We’ll mail you today’s pay, and that will be all. I hope you find work soon, Mr Tomlinson.”

Louis took in a deep breath. He wanted to scream, throw things, show his boss—now ex-boss—how angry he was, but he refrained. That would be immature, and he had a point to prove. He could be the best, most trustworthy employee ever. Mr Liebermann was going to regret firing him.

“Have a nice day,” Louis said.

He spun on his heels and exited the shop. A few feet down the street he stepped into a puddle of slush and cursed. He had forgotten to wear boots. He shivered as the wet muck seeped into his shoes. He wanted to give them to Mr Liebermann and mess up his always perfectly clean floors.

Louis trudged home through the grey sludge. His lips were pursed in a deep pout, eyebrows furrowed. Reluctantly, he entered his and Zayn’s flat. He didn’t want to face him or Anna and tell them that his tendency to slack off had bitten him in the ass.

The two of them were cuddled up on the couch when he entered. He sighed, wanting their attention, but they were too busy making out. Louis sighed again, theatrical. They parted with a slick sound and fixed their gazes on him.

“What’s up with you?” Zayn asked. “You look upset.”

Louis stomped over to the chair and collapsed. He crossed his arms over his chest and made a noise of distaste.

“Liebermann fired me,” he said.

Anna chuckled. “That’s hardly surprising. You don’t do shit, Lou.”

“What do you know?” Louis hissed.

Anna recoiled at his tone.Zayn laid a comforting hand on her thigh.

“Why don’t you go make some lunch?” he murmured to her. “I’ll calm him down.”

“Just because you speak in a lower tone doesn’t mean I can’t hear you,” Louis said, scowling.

Anna rolled her eyes at Zayn and stood from the couch. She kissed him briefly on the lips and went to the kitchen to prepare a meal. Louis hoped for comfort food so he could eat away his despair.

Zayn patted the couch, motioning for Louis to join him. He shook his head. Louis was in a defiant mood. Zayn sighed and squeezed in beside Louis on the chair. He went to great lengths for Louis’ comfort. He often wondered if Louis appreciated his efforts.

“He told me that I don’t have any people skills,” Louis said. Zayn remained quiet; he knew that Louis needed to vent before he was able to see the full picture. “He was talking shit, Zayn. Telling me I’m lazy, that I’ll never amount to anything.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he didn’t say that.”

“He implied it.”

Zayn patted him gently on the back. Louis shifted away from his touch, only to cave and lean into him a few moments later. Zayn grinned smugly.

“Maybe I can help you find another job,” he said.

“I’m too stupid.”

“Hey, none of that.” Zayn frowned at him, but Louis didn’t relent. He was going to keep pouting until Zayn gave in and indulged his tantrum. “You’re not stupid, you just slack off too much.”

Louis shrugged Zayn off of him and stood from the loveseat. Zayn’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached out to stop him. Louis backed away.

“I’m going to my room,” he said.

Zayn knew better than to protest.

Anna returned carrying a plate of chicken nuggets. She set them on the table and looked to her boyfriend.

“Did Louis go off to pout?” she asked.

A bedroom door slammed. Zayn winced.

“You could say that.”

 

❄

 

“I got you a job.”

Zayn and Louis sat at the breakfast table, mowing down a plate of chocolate chip pancakes. Zayn made them when he woke with Anna’s alarm, and Louis was now eating the leftovers at six at night. When Anna was gone they tended to forage.

 “Really?” Louis said. “Doing what?”

Zayn wrung his hands. A classic and too obvious sign of unease. Louis narrowed his eyes.

“Doing what?” he repeated.

“You could be my assistant.” Zayn’s cheeks flamed. “It’d be temporary, of course, until you can find something else. But it’s money, and we’d get to hang out all day.”

Once he had been glorious, trimming moustaches and bridling beards. Praise flowed his way. Sure, now and then a bloke with facial hair the size of America would mock his own smooth face. After a while he had learnt to keep a picture in his back pocket for those moments, one he could whip up and show the unkempt stubble on his jaw.

Assistant. He would need to be on time, print out Zayn’s schedule and use the calendar in his phone. He would need to hang back stage of the photoshoots, surely accompany Mr Malik to certain public events, carry useless knick-knack. He would have to learn people’s names and make sure his boss showed up to work sober.

A lot more responsibility than sculpting hair.

He forked a pancake and let it slip back to the plate. “I don’t want to ruin your vibe, but I don’t see how being bossed around by you all day equates to hanging out.”

“I see your reservations—”

Louis cut him off. “How much does it pay?”

“Minimum wage,” Zayn said. “Same as your old job, just without the tips. But it’s not like you got them before, anyway. You weren’t exactly employee of the month.”

“What is with all of these insults? What have I ever done to deserve this verbal abuse?” He flicked a chip at Zayn’s cheek. Melted chocolate stained his cupid’s bow. “If I agree to be your slave for money, does that make me seem cheap?”

Zayn snorted. “Don’t know. How much are you selling yourself for?”

“Ten pounds an hour.”

“Maybe Anna and I will each have a go,” Zayn said. “Do you do threesomes?”

Louis cackled.

“Seriously, though,” Zayn continued. “Are you accepting the offer? Because there’s plenty of other people willing to take your place.”

“I accept,” Louis said with a ceremonious nod. He ripped a piece of a napkin and handed it over, gesturing to his own face. Zayn scraped the chocolate from where it dribbled down his jaw.

Evening fell too soon. Louis found himself wasting the afternoon by staring out the window and wondering if his unemployed days would have been like this—losing interest in his usual escapades, isolating himself when his flatmates reunited and shared news about the day’s work, eating and shitting because someone else actually could be a decent employee and put food on the table.

Shivering at the depressing thought, he headed out from his room.

Anna’s belongings were spread out over the kitchen counter. The woman herself had curled up on the couch, barefoot in a neon orange tank top and some yoga pants. Zayn tinkered with the telly down on the floor. His back was obscenely arched. A platter of blunts lay on the table.

Upon seeing Louis, Anna straightened up. Smoke hung overhead, weaved from the cigar between her fingertips. She puffed.

“Ah, congratulations to your smoking hot employment,” she said.

“Am I hearing puns?”

“Accidental ones.” She tossed him a cigar and beckoned him over.

Louis stepped over Zayn on his way to claim the armchair. Music blasted from the telly for a second before cutting off. Zayn threw himself up in triumph, gesturing to the _Just Dance_ title screen and pounding his chest.

“So, is this for me or is it just one of those days?”

“Now it’s for you,” Zayn said and slipped down next to him, one arm compressing his back. They squished against the armrests.

Things spiralled after seven songs.

After a heated battle to _I Was Made For Lovin’ You,_ Zayn collapsed on the couch, one hand thrown in defeat over his eyes. Smoke billowed from Anna’s mouth whilst she slapped his leg, urging him to re-join the party.

Their conversation sounded muffled to Louis, catching fresh air on the balcony. He had texted blurry photos and videos of Zayn and Anna battling to the three of them, and had since then resorted to examine pictures he had snapped during the past few weeks.

It was of him and Niall at the pub, for the first time, with Niall looking cut and pasted into the setting. More recent ones were of Mary’s Corner—some of the beverages and interior, some of Harry serving customers.

Louis blinked down at the screen, grinning. He made a futile gesture for Anna to lower the music while he dialled.

Impaired texting was bad enough, but intoxicated phone calls? Louis was out of his mind.

He pressed his phone to his ear, feeling happy and stupid. It went straight to Harry’s voicemail, but the butterflies in his belly soared too high to let the rejection ruin his mood.

“Harry.” He giggled, covering his mouth briefly. “Harry, Harry, Harry. You’re so cute. You make me happy. And I’m really fucking high right now, and it feels good. Almost as good as when you let me kiss you, or when we fucked. You looked so beautiful then. You always do. You’re absolutely divine.”

“Louis!” Zayn hollered. “Hurry up, we’re starting another round.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Louis slurred. “I’m being yelled at so I have to hang up soon, but I miss your pretty face. I wanna hold you in my arms again. I like your dimples, and your eyes, and your smile. I barely ever see it, but it’s still beautiful. Will you call me soon? I miss hearing your voice.”

Zayn snatched the phone out of his hands. Louis was too slow to stop him and surrendered with a slap to his forearm. A harsh serenity overtook him.

“Bye, Harry,” Zayn said, and ended the call.

Urged back to the warmth, Louis fell into his armchair. This time it was Zayn’s turn to drag Anna back to the telly, which now displayed a newer _Just Dance_ edition. They had swapped discs ten times in the past hour. Louis grinned at them as Zayn stumbled on the floor and seized Anna’s arm for support. He pictured them as Harry and him.

The perilous thought lurked in the dim outskirts of his mind.

Harry wouldn’t dance. Louis couldn’t imagine him. He would stay behind the kitchen counter, leaning over to catch the current score before fiddling with his fingers. As the night carried on and the snowfall outside worsened, he would curl up against Louis under a shared blanket and let himself be held.

Louis could imagine that.

He clung onto the scene, fingers twitching where they rested on his phone. Harry should be here with him.

One of his hands shot into the air on its own accord.

“Oh, oh, I wanna see Zayn do _I’m So Excited,”_ he said.

Anna perked up and poked at one of the sweat rings under Zayn’s armpits.

“You totally should. Louis can join you.”

“Yes!” Louis hollered. “I was made for dancing! Come at me, boss.”

Zayn’s face crumpled. Slouching forward, he trudged back to the table to down a glass of water. He stole Louis’ blunt.

“I will. And if I win, you’ll have to call me ‘boss’ for a week, whether we’re at work or not.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honour of Mr Tomlinson's birthday, here is an early update :)
> 
> This chapter contains self-harm (towards the end). If you're triggered by that, please do not read. We can supply you with a summary in the comments instead. Be safe x

_Please come over._

The text sat in Harry’s inbox all morning. He wondered if Louis felt embarrassed, if he only wanted to see him to tell him that he didn’t mean what he said, that they should remain friends and nothing else. The idea of Louis being attracted to him bewildered him.

What did he even have to give? His messy home, his little money? Yellow stained fingertips and the bad breath from constant smoking? He kept to himself, he wore the same ratty sweaters from his teenage years, and his hair was a mess of curls gone awry. What did Louis see in him?

Harry worked up the courage to go see him after lunch. He hadn’t eaten, didn’t have the energy, and his stomach growled with the need to be filled. Sometimes he enjoyed the feeling of emptiness.

A chill settled in his marrow. He fanned his hands with hot air every two seconds, shoved his hands back into pockets too shallow. His fingers peeped out of the tears in the seam. Tossing his hair back, he ignored the winter’s pinch on his nose and ears, how his cheeks took on a baby pink tint instead of a full red, or how his heartbeat sped up upon sighting Louis’ block of flats.

He trudged up the stairs to the flat. If he didn’t want to stall he would have taken the elevator. His grimy boots scraped against the vinyl, fading out when he halted on the right floor Santa stickers had been added underneath the wreath. His dry knuckles rapped on the door.

Zayn opened. He seemed surprised to see Harry there, but stepped aside to let him in anyway. Anna stood beside him, lacing up her combat boots. Her hair was tucked under a white beanie, making her freckles prominent.

“Hi,” Harry said. He could feel the heat in his cheeks.

“Hey,” Zayn returned. “If you’re here to see Louis he’s in his room. We’re heading out, so they’ll be an empty house if you plan on doing anything.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock. “No, no, we’re not going to be doing anything like that.”

Zayn grinned to himself. He intertwined his fingers with Anna’s and patted Harry on the back.

“See you around.”

Harry was too stunned to return it.

He skimmed his fingertips along the walls as he made his way to Louis’ room. Dust that had collected on the shelves stained his hands. He clapped them and grey clouds erupted in their wake.

Louis’ door was ajar. Harry knocked, but paused at the doorway. Every part of him was hesitating. He couldn’t bring himself to enter Louis’ room.

“Zayn?” Louis called. “I thought you already left.”

Harry took a deep breath. He pushed open the door, revealing himself.

“It’s me,” he said.

Louis was perched on his bed, blankets strewn over his lap. Photo albums littered the mattress. Harry stepped closer so his knees touched the edge of the bed.

“I thought you’d never come around,” Louis said. “I thought I scared you away.”

Harry only shrugged. He remained quiet as he sat down next to Louis. He kept distance between them, though he yearned to be closer. He glanced at the photo albums, skimmed over rows of images of Louis and Zayn.

“Listen, Harry, about that voice mail—”

Harry cut him off. “What’s this?”

Louis looked over at what he was fixed on. In Harry’s hands was a monochromatic collection of photos where Louis was dressed only in a pair of black suspenders. Harry turned the page to the next set of photos, where the suspenders had been forgotten. Louis’ face burned.

Harry looked up at him, amused. “I didn’t know that you modelled.”

“I don’t… anymore.”

“But you did.”

“I did,” Louis agreed. He passed a different album to Harry. “Zayn took me around the world with him. I had a brief modelling career, nothing serious.”

“Yet you took naked photos.” Harry chuckled.

“It was an artistic experiment,” Louis said. “Plus Zayn said my ass could be worth money. No one has seen those pictures besides me and him.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Louis shrugged. “I thought it would be fun. It was fun. But stripping off in front of cameras is not what I aspired to do. That’s more of a Zayn thing. I tried it out, but I didn’t have the patience for the life of a celebrity.”

This album revealed broad horizons and the earth’s jagged teeth upon which two men hiked. The series contained snaps from the course of a day, the first one with the sun peeking over the mountain tops and the consecutive ones with shadows growing steeper and the sky clearing at the increased height. Harry could recognise Louis in one of the bulky suits. Upon closer examination, he found the man upfront to be Zayn.

“That was before he started smoking,” Louis said, one finger ghosting over their tiny figures. “He was quite athletic back in the day. We tried going to places where no one knew him.”

A red flag with a blue and white cross had been sewn to their jackets. Harry recalled a conversation he and Louis had held at the café.

“Norway?” he said.

A smile spread across Louis’ face. “Yeah. Yeah, Norway. We met a film crew up there who was kicking off the recording of a documentary. Guess I’m good with timing. These are all shots from the finished product. There are some less serious ones coming up.”

Keeping his grip on the far end of each page, Harry turned to a new set of photographs. His fingers would be greasy from styling his hair.

Louis and Zayn on the beach, Louis and Zayn in a tree hut, Louis and Zayn in the English suburbs, Louis and an overgrown house.

Harry paused.

“Where’s this from?”

“That’s where I grew up. Not in this house, but close by. I used to come here a lot.” Louis pressed the tip of his finger to the broken shingles stacked against the house wall. His breath hit Harry’s cheek. “Before the vines took over I could hide inside. Not that I’d need to, but I was a kid. They love secret getaways.”

Harry had never had a getaway. His bedroom door was too thin. The house was never silent.

While his goose bumps yielded to the heat of Louis’ body he recovered the other album. He flipped back to the collection of nude photography. Gauging Louis’ reaction, he chose one of the more clothed photos.

“Can I have this?”

Louis straightened up. “Why’d you ask that?”

“You’re handsome.”

They stared at each other. A flush bloomed over Louis’ face.

Harry put the album down. “Sorry—“

“Pick whichever one you want.” Louis cleared his throat, voice briefly wavering. “If I had known I would be showing them off I would have kept on longer.”

The photo slid from its plastic with ease. Harry weighed it in, his fingers hovering over the rest of the collection. Each picture had a twist to it. Harry’s chosen one depicted Louis’ sculpted back to the camera, his head to the side. His fingers were hooked in the briefs, just about to snap the elastic.

“Too bad you didn’t,” Harry began, coy. “You certainly have the body for it. And considering the voice mail you left me yesterday you sure have a thing for drama.”

Louis’ face fell. “I was high, Harry. I’m really sorry. But if you’re trying to get me to say I regret it, I don’t.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled.

Louis sensed him pulling away. He relented.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” he asked. “I was going to throw a pizza in the oven. We can share.”

“Sure.”

After he had tucked the photograph into his back pocket, Harry followed Louis to the kitchen. A fatty substance had splashed up on the black linoleum above the stove. Saucepans and skillets stacked underneath, poised perfectly. One breath would knock everything down.

Louis crouched to preheat the oven. Harry swung himself up on a barstool from which even his legs could dangle. He steadied them on the slippery footrest.

“You’ve been everywhere,” he said, words fumbling for purchase. His limbs felt like lead.

Louis sprung up from the oven. He braced his arms on the counter. This close, Harry could see every bump and speckle on his face. Shy stubble dawned on his chin.

“Well, what about you? Where have you been?”

Harry cowered, legs jumping on the barstool. “I’ve never been south of Dover.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.”

Louis sighed. He eased his hand over the countertop, let it fold over Harry’s chill one. He sought Harry’s gaze.

“I don’t mean to boast. I know I’ve been privileged,” he said. “Zayn’s got pals in the modelling business and other than him and Anna those are the only people I interact with. Well, now with the addition of Niall and you. I don’t get out a lot.”

The grip on Harry’s hand tightened momentarily. Its gentle nature made it hard to focus on anything but Louis’ thumb running over the nubs of parched skin.

Louis’ hands had grown familiar to him over the past few weeks. Whether raking through his hair, caressing his spine, or bumping knuckles over a cup of coffee, Harry knew their texture.

He swallowed as Louis removed the touch, slowly straightening up.

“I’ll take care of the pizza,” Louis said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The couch accepted Harry’s weight without a sound. He bounced on it experimentally a couple of times. It didn’t creak once.

As Louis tinkled in the kitchen, Harry found himself watching wildlife on the telly. Normally he would have been all over it, no matter the content, just because it functioned properly.

This time, he couldn’t sit still. He kept drawing circles on his thigh, glancing over the counter to where Louis squirted tomato sauce all over the pizza and a bit of the oven, chuckling under his breath at the ill-disguised curses. He never interjected, but Louis was far more interesting than mating koalas.

He almost fell asleep in the couch.

_“I want to take you out sometime.”_

Harry wondered when that would be.

One giant platter in hand and a cloth tucked in the hem of his trousers, Louis presented him the meal thirty minutes later. Fresh vegetables glimmer on top of it. Louis made a show of yanking out the cloth and folding it.

Ripping a piece of the crust, Harry brought it to his nose—light and crisp—and nibbled on it.

“Better than that bacon you made,” he said. He stiffened once it had slipped out, holding back for Louis’ reaction.

Louis wiped some sauce off his cheek and gawked at the pizza.

“I sure hope so,” he said.

Zapping off the telly, they fell into light conversation, occasionally muffled by mouthfuls of food. Laughing turned out to be unfortunate and Harry had to slouch over for air too often. Every once in a while he would stop and take Louis in, the crinkling eyes and craning neck. Harry stared, unable to help himself.

He finished eating after one slice and a half. Louis didn’t mention it.

“It’s getting late,” he said, as if by reflex. He didn’t want to go back to his flat.

Louis hummed.

“Where did your flatmates go?”

There was a pause.

“I honestly can’t remember.” Louis snorted. “I have no idea.”

Sometime during the brief conversation, his hand had settled on Harry’s thigh. It sat there, without squeezing, or moving.

Harry’s heart lurched. He dragged his legs up in the couch, folding in on himself to fit, grasping his ankles. Licking his lips, he felt the hand finally tighten as he leaned into an embrace. He buried his nose in Louis’ neck.

“The pizza was really good,” he murmured.

Fingers slowly raked across his back. “I’m glad.”

Harry withdrew, just enough to catch Louis’ drooping eyelids, and slanted his head. Louis’ breath hit his cheek, soon swallowed in a kiss. With their chests this tight together, he couldn’t breathe. Maybe that wasn’t so important.

Louis rose to his knees, disengaging to fold Harry over the back of the couch, soon delving back to his lips. Stubble scraped across Harry’s jaw, oddly familiar, and gentle hands looped in his hair, pressed into the dip of his spine. Instead of lingering on the painful familiarity, he tasted the freshness on Louis’ tongue, lapping residual crumbs from his mouth.

Sighing, Louis pressed closer, hands further entangling themselves.

Harry pulled back. The blunt edge of the couch dug into his shoulder blades. Louis blinked down at him, his cheeks a lovely pink.

Clinging to him, Harry rested his forehead on Louis’ shoulder. He exhaled, deep and sudden. Nothing could touch him. Here he could stay.

“When are you taking me out?” he said softly, mouth brushing over bare skin.

“Anytime.” Louis kissed his scalp. “Anytime. I have a few ideas.”

 

                  ❄       

 

Harry made his way home through the merciless streets. The wind blew his hair left and right, nestling snowflakes into his eyelashes. When his next payment came, he had sworn to invest in proper headwear. Perhaps Baby could sleep in it if he bought something.

Tingles had run up and down his spine since leaving Louis’. He knew the dangers in it, feeling this way, but much like he let winter sweep his hair and bite his nose, he did his best to ignore it. A flurry filled the usual void in his gut, shy and hot. He tried not to think about the dishes stacked in his sink, or the creaking pipes in his bathroom, the charred specks on his shower curtain.

For a while, he succeeded.

His ratty block of flats crammed itself into the adjacent houses in the distance. Slowing his steps, he traipsed over garbage poured from overturned trashcans. His toes blazed upon hitting an old telly, cold enough to sever from his foot. The regular stench of wasted food encompassed him.

A couple had stopped metres away from him. He was about to duck away when he met the man’s gaze.

Liam’s face fell from its lit state. The creases of joy smoothened and the conversation quieted down. One glance was all it took for Harry to crumble.

“Do you know each other?” the woman said, her neon nails tapping against a purse.

Harry’s gaze wandered. Her stomach bulged under a psychedelically patterned winter coat. Every trace of his warm flurry blew away.

“This is Harry,” Liam said, tightening his loop on the woman’s arm.

He no longer sported that cutting stubble. A beard had started to flourish along his jaw, soft and trimmed. Otherwise he looked ghostly alike his old self.

The woman introduced herself, reached out a hand, spoke to him. Harry blinked.

Countless nights had been spent longing for someone’s arms to wrap around him, wishing that he hadn’t set everything Liam had left behind on fire, making up conversations where he would receive an apology. In multiple scenarios, he screamed at Liam, trashed his stuff. In just as many, they fell asleep again on his mattress, lulled by traffic, tangled up.

Harry couldn’t speak. He knew he must look idiotic, gawking like this. He didn’t know how he was expected to act.

The woman lowered her greeting. Liam squeezed her arm in reassurance, his eyes dead on Harry’s lanky form in the shadows.

“Well,” the woman said, her gaze jumping between them, “We don’t have a physical invitation with us now, but we would like you to be a guest at our wedding.”

Harry glanced at her. “Your wedding?”

Though she attempted to be discreet when leaning into Liam, he heard every word.

“I thought you were on good terms. You said you were.”

Liam’s jaw tensed, but he looked more distressed than anything.

Harry cleared his throat, trying not to stumble over his words. “You’re getting married?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to be spiteful. All he could do was look Liam in the eye, hoping to find answers to the million thoughts jumbling his mind.

_Why had he stayed?_

Liam caught him lingering.

“It’s a girl,” he said.

Harry averted his gaze. He noticed his own fist, clenched, and his boot stuck in the snow. Within seconds, he would be able to give Liam a black eye. He could. It wasn’t difficult.

Filled by an overwhelming lassitude, he let go of his grip. He couldn’t even throw a punch.

“Fuck you.” He forced himself to look at Liam again, into those blank eyes. His voice broke. “Fuck off.”

He caught a whiff of Liam’s cologne as he pressed past them, crossing rubble and ice specks. The woman’s voice echoed down the street, shouting at her fiancé, about how Liam had said this and that about them. Harry didn’t want to care. He needed to smoke.

Baby sat right by the doorstep when he entered his flat. He stepped over her and fell into the couch, scrambling for his pack on the broken coffee table. He had left it at home. He couldn’t figure out why.

It had been too long since he lost himself in smoke, and even now his head kept buzzing. He spent an indefinable amount of time slipping in and out of the haze, curling in on himself whenever the memories crept up on him, sprawling out over the couch and fixing his gaze high above when he managed to forget.

Tears gathered in his eyes as he flicked his lighter unsuccessfully, launching the cigarette across the room when it didn’t light. The next one gave way to a flame that soon sizzled down to a glow.

He brought it up between puffs, stared at it, twisting and clamping his fingers around it. He sat up. Shivering, he skimmed a finger across his forearm. He needed to hear the quiet. He had to stop repeating himself.

The tip of the cigarette seared his skin. His throat ripped with a scream and his eyes blew wide, staring at the. The stick moved as he trembled, unable to keep it steady. Deep red circles formed beneath. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing harder, breathing raggedly. He vaguely registered Baby springing from the couch and dashing through the flat.

Eventually he lost grip of the cigarette. His hand went to squeeze over the burn only to ghost just above it. Something popped below his skin. Seizing up, he batted a few sudden tears from his cheek. It was pathetic. It didn’t help. Liam’s dead expression had burnt into his eyelids, the sting in his voice. His head still whirred.

Baby poked her head around the corner hesitantly. Slowly, she walked daintily over to where Harry sat clutching his arm. She hopped onto the couch and nudged his hand with her cold nose. Harry sniffled.

“Come here, Baby,” he whispered.

He reached out to pat her on the head. Baby nudged her head into his palm, causing a small, pained smile to spread over Harry’s lips. His arm throbbed, burning from the searing heat of the cigarette. Tears raced down his cheeks and dripped onto the couch. They stained the fabric.

Baby crawled onto his lap, peering up at him with her big, curious eyes. She pressed her nose into his cheek, rubbing her face against his. Her whiskers tickled his skin.

She lapped up his tears with her rough tongue. Harry let out a watery laugh and pulled her close so she was tucked under his chin. The vibrations from her purrs soothed him.

“What are we gonna do?” he murmured.

Baby made a squeaking noise, as if to say,  _I don’t know, kid_.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. Harry stretched out his arm and grabbed for it. He jostled Baby, who moved to curl up on his feet.

He checked his messages.  

 **Nick:**   _You haven’t been around the café a lot these days, calling in sick, skipping. I’m worried. Please call me._

 **Nick:**   _Boss considers hiring people, I’ve heard. I don’t know how true it is, but if it is, you’re not in a good spot. Harry, I’m not upset, I just want to talk with you._

 **Nick:**   _Are you all right? Can I come over?_

Harry dialled his number. His fingers stroked over Baby’s black fur as he listened to the dial tone. Nick picked up quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

A heavy exhale rattled the line. “Harry. How are you, love?”

Harry paused, giving a small shrug. “Not so good.”

“Can I—“

“Don’t come over.”

“Do you need me?” Nick asked. His voice held too much sympathy, too much concern. “What can I do?”

“Just—” Harry pinched his thigh to calm himself. Nothing hurt more than the bubbling skin on his arm.

“What is it? What do you need?”

He rubbed his forehead, shaking his head.

“I’ll be at yours in a few.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite a late update, we're back on track. Hope everyone is having a good holiday, or weekend, and that you'll enjoy this chapter x

The set was noisy. In his break from the scene, Louis had forgotten just how busy the world of modelling was. Stylists and makeup artists flew by him holding bags propped with designer materials. Camera operators shouted directions at their lighting crews.

Louis spotted Zayn by the makeup zone. Zayn had power here, Louis knew, but it was still odd to see his best friend getting doted on like it was no big deal. The bags under Zayn’s eyes were an indicator of just how exhausting the scene was.

“Good morning, boss,” Louis said. He always kept his word.

Zayn smiled, smug. He had kept up the behaviour since conquering _Just Dance._ “Good morning. That for me?”

He pointed to one of the steaming cups of coffee in Louis’ hand.

“Oh, right.” Louis held out the one marked  _“latte for Zayn Malik.”_ Niall had written it as a joke, but Louis thought it was too funny to get rid of and insisted bringing it to Zayn. “I stopped at Mary’s on the way here. Figured you could use the pick me up. Waking up at five in the morning isn’t all that great.”

Zayn accepted the coffee gratefully. The mascara his stylist put on him barely helped with his droopy eyes.

She dabbed concealer on his faint acne scars from his teenage days. Even back then Zayn had perfect features. He rarely developed pimples, and when he did they were small things that no one noticed. Louis, on the other hand, broke out bad when he was younger. Pimples still dotted his back, but his face had cleared.

The stylist brushed powder over Zayn’s cheeks and stepped back to admire her work. She held up a mirror to his face.

“Done,” she said.

“Thank you.” Zayn jutted his thumb into the air. He stood up and shrugged his suit jacket over his shoulders.

“Do you even know her name?” Louis asked once she had scurried to other duties. The pair walked over to the set, sipping from their coffee cups.

“No,” Zayn admitted. “Is that bad?”

“Kind of.”

“I’ve never worked with her before,” Zayn said in defence. “I’m not  _that_ kind of celebrity, I swear.”

They stopped just outside the range of the cameras. Last minute lighting and chords strewed over the set, complete with assistants bearing coffee and notebooks scribbled black in a tiny font. Louis caught his reflection in one of the hand-held mirrors. Dusting off Zayn’s plain suit jacket, he shrugged. The moment to play off his silence had slipped from his hands.

Zayn eyed him, sighing.

“Okay,” he said, “You cannot be this agitated just because I’ve hired you as my slave. Speak up.”

Louis adjusted his own denim jacket. “I’m going to call my mum today. Tell her about my termination. How pissed do you think she’ll be?”

“Hard to say. Jay is pretty chill, isn’t she?”

Unable to tell if he was taking the piss, Louis snorted.

“No, I’m serious. Things are good now, right?”

“All good, all good,” Louis assured. “Would it be wiser to drop everything on her or just see how she handles me living on minimum wage first?”

“Hold on. What’s _everything?_ ”

Long eyelashes fluttered in his direction. He shook his head, urging his friend into the spotlight.

“Nothing, I’ll deal with it later. Go shine now, boss.”

After receiving a thrown kiss, Zayn went willingly.

Before coming on set, Louis had been instructed that he needed to wander off during the actual shooting, partly for serving as a distraction for everyone involved—there had been previous times where he would erupt in cheers when Zayn nailed a particularly pleasant pose—and partly for Zayn’s embarrassment. Louis couldn’t fathom why Zayn would be ashamed to flaunt himself, but he was aware of how the joyful part of work had spiralled in recent times.

With hasty breaks scattered in the schedule, it took till late forenoon before Zayn came sauntering out to where Louis had slumped on a bland and unforgiving bench in the corridor.

“Finally,” Louis said in a whine, popping his back as he shot from his seat, notepad and coffee in his arms.

“Work getting to you already?” Zayn faked a look of disappointment as he snatched one of the styrofoam cups and sank down.

Louis kept quiet. He didn’t want to fight a losing battle.

As soon as he had settled, Zayn scrolled through photos of him and Anna on his phone. Blurry and too close to their faces, it must have been taken by either of them rather than a professional photographer. No overlays coated the photographs. Louis admired them with a smile. They were cosy, cuddled up together in the snow. Louis pictured him and Harry taking photos like that and swooned.

“Look at her,” Zayn said, floating away with a dreamy look on his face. “She’s gorgeous, Lou.”

Louis would pretend to be upset by Zayn’s sappy behaviour. He was endeared by how affectionate his best friend was towards Anna. Louis thought it was cute to see Zayn so whipped for someone, so undeniably in love.

“I’m so proud of her,” Zayn said. “She’s halfway through her apprenticeship, you know. She says she’s getting a Christmas bonus soon and that she wants to spend the money taking me out to an expensive dinner.”

Louis cooed at him and mocked his love struck expression. Zayn shoved his shoulder.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis said. “A serious question.”

Zayn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Sure.”

“When did you know you loved Anna?”

“I think it was after the first time we kissed,” Zayn said. He pressed his smile into his wrist. “She was giggly and blushing and I remember leaning down to kiss her nose, which just made her smile even more. I remember thinking to myself  _‘I love this girl, she’s adorable.’_ That was it, man. I was a goner.”

Louis smiled. “That’s cute. I’m happy for you guys, as disgusting as you might be.”

Zayn snorted. “That’s no way to speak to your boss.”

“I see you’re still keeping up the bet.”

Zayn turned at Anna’s voice, a dopey grin spreading over his face. He was whipped, and he knew it. Although Louis complained, he was pleased to see Zayn’s heart eyes. He liked seeing him happy.

Anna lowered herself onto Zayn’s lap. Her dark hair lay down her back, tickling Zayn’s nose. Anna pulled her hair over her shoulder so he could breathe. His arms winded around her waist and a soft kiss landed on her cheek. Anna’s face softened.

“Power shut off. We’re running on generators,” she said, supplying a reason for her sudden drop in. “They only wanted the experienced electricians working, so they sent me home.”

“So you came here to see Zayn get doted on?” Louis chuckled, watching as Zayn offered Anna a sip from his coffee. She stole the cup from him. He didn’t seem too bothered.

“I wanted to see you actually working,” Anna said. “It’s a sight that only happens once in a lifetime. This is rare—Louis doing his job.”

Louis poked his lips out in a playful pout. “You’re mean.”

“I’m also telling the truth,” Anna said.

“She is,” Zayn agreed.

“Everyone is ganging up on me.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t serious; Anna could tell by the smile he was trying to suppress.

She patted her boyfriend’s shoulders, demanding his attention. He glanced up with a hum, lips furled into his mouth.

“I was thinking we could go away this weekend,” she said, threw an eye at Louis who grimaced at his cold beverage. “Camping or something.”

Zayn thought for a moment.

“I don’t have any modelling gigs this weekend,” he said. “Camping sounds fun. We should go to that place me and Lou discovered. Ashurst.”

“Wait.” Louis discarded the cup in the nearby trash. “Ashurst isn’t open during the winter.”

Zayn shrugged overdramatically. “So? It won’t be the first unlawful thing in your life. Oh, I know the perfect place—it’s far up by the lake, could even be in the woods. Complete solitude, and ice fishing just a hundred yards away.”

“Invite Niall,” Anna said to Louis. “The kid’s awesome. He makes me laugh.”

“I’ll text him later and ask him,” Louis said. “I’m sure he’ll say yes. All he ever does is work.”

“And get drunk,” Zayn interjected.

“That too.”

Anna glanced towards Zayn’s set, far in between agape doors and scurrying people. Her gaze settled on Zayn’s dressing room. She smiled wickedly at him, and he returned it knowingly. Louis caught the look in their eyes and held back a retch.

“Why don’t you show me around, babe?” Anna suggested.

Zayn didn’t bother hiding his excitement, nodding over and over. “Sure.”

Anna stood from his lap and pulled him to his feet, reaching for his hand. Zayn turned to Louis.

“Hold the fort, will you?” he said. “And we will need more coffee when we return.”

“Sure thing, boss. Don’t break anything.”

People gradually filled the broad corridors. The sun reached its peak outside and the shadows in the room deepened, lights flickering on and drenching Louis. He tucked the papers away in one of Anna’s old messenger bags she had given him and made his way to calmer quarters.

He sent off a text to Niall.

_Save me, they’ve gone off to fuck somewhere._

Almost bumping into someone, he swerved into a dark nook of the building. It contained a row of plush seats and a sad plastic plant. He tossed the messenger bag by the plant before falling onto the seats, one arm over his eyes. He could call his mum now, while he was left to his own devices.

Just as he was about to dial, he spotted Niall’s reply.

_Now isn’t the best time, Louis._

Louis’ eyebrows furrowed. Niall was always happy. Even through a text message Louis could hear his sad, hurt tone. His chest clenched.

He texted,  _I’m coming over. See you in twenty._

Last minute Christmas-shoppers crowded the streets, today worse than usual. He couldn’t count the times an elbow had nudged him in the wrong direction. Thankfully, Niall didn’t live more than a handful of blocks from his current location. The chill that settled in his bones made him wish for a warmer coat. He was always too stubborn to put one on in the mornings and regretted it when he went outside. Still, he never learned.

Halfway there, he remembered the impending phone call. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he dialled.

“Hey, mum, it’s me. How are things?”

 _“Louis.”_ She sounded relieved, like always. _“We’re okay. I’m taking everyone out tomorrow for some last minute shopping. Lottie forgot to buy Felicite the sweater she wanted.”_

He wanted to ease into it, but hearing the expectance in his mother’s voice made it difficult to keep up the charade.

“I… I can’t send anything over this month. Liebermann let me go.”

_“Oh.”_

The sound made Louis flinch. He never wanted to be the cause of that sound.

“Mum, I—“

_“No, it’s all right. You don’t have to. Do you think you will be home for your birthday?”_

Two giant grocery bags bopped towards him up the street.

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

_“You won’t cause any trouble. Your sisters would love to see you.”_

“I might be busy,” Louis said. Blowing her off wasn’t his intention, but he couldn’t bear to see her disappointment in him. It was bad enough to hear it. Other days would come.

 _“Oh. Well. No worries,”_ she said, rustling with something in the background. He could just make out his sisters’ distant voices. _“I’m sure we’ll see you some other time, then.”_

The man laden with groceries came closer, with no intention of veering around him. He frowned, about to apologise once again, and stopped in the middle of the pavement to make a point. The man halted.

“Sorry, do you mind?” he said, peering around the load. The sheen of annoyance on his face shaped into something indecipherable. “Louis?”

“Listen, mum, I’ve gotta go,” Louis said. “I’m going over to Niall’s. I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

_“Of course. Have a merry Christmas.”_

He hung up too soon, eyeing Nick with furrowed brows. Upon closer examination, he spotted cheap slippers and shirts alongside the food in the bags.

“Hosting a party?” he said.

Nick lowered one of the bags onto his hip, causing his coat to slip open. Faint bruises coated his neck.

“I live here,” he offered. He attempted to close his coat without success.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “I figured.”

“So, you’re heading to Niall’s?”

“I am.” He couldn’t fathom why they were still talking, what in the world Nick could have to say.

Nick just readjusted his grip on his load, staggering back a few steps as he caved under the weight.

“You haven’t been around the café much,” he said.

Louis snorted. “I’ve been busy.” He kicked at a greying lump of snow. “It’s fine if you just carry on. You don’t have to be polite.”

Nick had barely acknowledged his words with a nod and a “Then I have to go” before Louis had flurried past him, Niall’s building looming around the corner. He recognised the sad excuse of a lamp rocking in the tiny windows.

Taking the steps in two, Louis reached the first floor in a matter of seconds. He refused to stall, his rapt knuckles flinging over the door until Niall opened cautiously, his lips turned down into a pout. Sorrowful blue eyes met Louis’, an overwhelming confusion swirling deep below the gloss of hurt. Louis knew the look.

Reaching for him, Louis pulled Niall into a quick hug. Without admitting it aloud, it soothed him as well. Niall didn’t let him go for a long time, squeezed him until Louis couldn’t breathe. He wondered if this was how the weight of his brother’s mistakes felt like.

“What happened?” Louis asked. He pulled away and studied Niall’s features. Tear tracks stained his cheeks. Some cheesy comedy droned on the telly in the background.

“My brother,” Niall said. “Something happened with my brother.”

Louis guided him over to the couch. He felt like he was holding a small child in his arms instead of an adult. He wiped away Niall’s tears. Louis briefly wondered if his brother did this for him when he was small, which caused him to wonder if anyone had been there for him like this since his brother’s incarceration.

“What happened?” Louis asked again.

“He got into a fight two weeks ago. A bad one,” Niall said quietly. “He’s serving a longer sentence now. Life in prison. He had forty years before.”

“So that’s the truth?” Louis asked. “He killed a guy and almost killed someone else?”

“He had some drug charges, too. Theft from when he was a teenager. An assault charge from bar fights,” Niall confessed. His cheeks were pink from the embarrassment of admitting just how much his brother had done. “He’s done bad stuff, I know that. Is it just bad that I still love him?”

Louis shook his head. “No. He’s your brother. It’s only normal to love him.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Niall said. He scratched at the couch, seemingly unaware of his actions, and flung his gaze across the mountains of books, the shelved and the ones stacked to pathetic stools against the wall. “My mum hasn’t talked to him since he got locked up, but I still call him. I wish it was as easy for me as it was for her to just forget about him.”

Throat dry, Louis forcefully swallowed, kept his touch on Niall’s back light. “Was he good to you?”

“Yeah. He was protective of me. Hit people that teased me.” Niall snorted. “Which, looking back, is pretty bad but at the time I felt special to have my brother looking out for me. I thought what he was doing to the other kids when they picked on me was normal.”

“You were a kid,” Louis said. “You didn’t know any better. You’re not responsible, or whatever you’re thinking, for the way your brother is.”

Niall wasn’t done.

“Sometimes,” he began, “I think if I had seen more of who he is earlier an innocent person wouldn’t be dead, that every person he’s hurt would be whole. I know it’s not my fault but it feels that way sometimes.”

Louis laid a comforting hand on his knee. “It’s not your fault, Niall. Your brother made his choice to hurt people. He’s an ass. That’s not your problem. Really.”

Biting at a hangnail, Niall shrugged. His shoulders sank towards each other, the bumps of his spine popping under his thin tee. He stopped scratching, folded his hands in his lap, as if he would lash out if he didn’t restrain himself.

“He’s the kind of person you relate songs to, you know?” He cleared his throat, a soft, shy sound. “What’s your family like? We haven’t talked much—about them, I mean—but I doubt you have any crazy brothers.”

“You want to know or are you asking for the sake of decency? Because I promised we would focus on you this time.”

“No, no, I want to know. Maybe we share some similarities.”

With a resigned gesture of his hands, Louis sank into the plush couch. The cheesy comedy, although muted, glared at him. He zapped it off.

“In the short version, I leave my family—my mum and quite a few sisters—and travel the world, getting a taste of what’s out there, and I don’t come back even when mum’s calling me every other hour, asking where I am, when I’ll come visit. Then I move to London.”

“What’s the long version?”

Louis smiled. “You don’t want to know.”

They sat for a while, watching muted jokes unfold on the telly as the vanilla scented candles on the table flickered out. Niall nudged the bookmark in one of his literary essays as his feet made a home for themselves in the ruckus. The darkness was too snug.

“You know what,” Louis said. “We’re going camping this weekend, up at Ashurst. You should come. We have a tent and all, so you only have to bring yourself. What do you say?”

“Hell yeah,” Niall replied. He mirrored Louis’ grin, still shy of joyful. “It’ll be nice to take a break from work for a weekend.”

Louis didn’t want to move, ever. Having a bump of solid warmth to rest against without being unsure if it would be there the next minute offered a relaxation he didn’t thought he needed. He definitely needed to get out more often, see people that were good for him.

Niall piped up, as if he had dipped into Louis’ brain. “Hey, could you stay here?”

“A sleepover kind of thing?”

Niall nodded. He went lax as Louis’ arm draped across his shoulders.

“Of course,” Louis said, hauling himself over the table for the remote whilst coddling his friend. “Want to watch a shitty rom-com?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camping and Harry's POV next week. Take care everyone x


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! We hope this one will be better than the last x

Harry’s fingers skimmed the ribcage he rested on, his eyelids glued together. Beneath eyes caked by slumber, he could only feel out his surroundings. The air gave off a sterile vibe, though the kingdom under their sheets was anything but. Faint traffic drummed outside, through decently isolated walls, joint by their limbs scraping against the mattress and a neighbour taking the stairwell in two steps at a time.

He pressed closer to the body next to him, just enough to nuzzle into warm masses of skin. A tender palm came to rest between his shoulder blades, a thumb poking out to draw circles over the bones.

Without cracking an eye open, he reached up, cupping a tattooed shoulder. He struggled to remember what kind of tattoo it could be, wondered if he had bitten it the night before. Daylight forced itself through his eyelids and he glanced to the plain shoulder. He blinked, trying to decipher the black pattern that should be there. The light overpowered him, so he buried his head again with a gruff mumble.

A tender chuckle sounded above him.

“Morning, love. How did you sleep?”

Harry frowned, hidden in the light blackness the ribcage offered. The bright seemed to be everywhere.

“I’m still asleep,” he murmured out.

The chuckle repeated itself.

Just as his comfort sat up and leaned against the headboard, he faced the day. The room appeared before him bit by bit, cluttered by clothes and half-unpacked grocery bags scattered on the kitchen chairs and table. An unfinished game of solitaire occupied the nightstand.

Sluggishly, he jerked his leg into the warmth below the duvet, instinctively following the body that had offered him warmth not even a minute prior. Fog shrouded his memories. All that existed was the doleful hope shimmering in his chest, and the fingers scratching his scalp, the knuckles ghosting over his cheek.

“It’s past eleven,” the voice said. “The others have already headed to the camping, but I told them we would be late.”

Harry peered up. Wildly tousled morning hair and Nick’s hazel eyes met him.

“I was going to get up,” Nick continued, “But I couldn’t risk startling you. If anyone needs sleep, it’s you.”

Harry’s head hung in the air, a merciless position for his neck to rest in. He was used to waking in a daze. Not remembering who he ended up kissing, or what kind of crowd surrounded him. He was never fond of the days when it all came back to him.

It hadn’t been one night. They had holed up indoors for days with the exception of Nick heading out to re-stock the fridge, returning with whatever clothing he thought would bring Harry warmth.

Harry supressed the gelid dread pressing him through the mattress, allowed the void to consume him.

He shouldn’t have woken up here. This was a finished chapter. He was doing well.

Nick slid from the bed, fishing up jeans and a wrist watch on his way to the kitchen. Harry barely noted the slight limp in his walk.

“I was thinking I could drive us up,” Nick said, fumbling with a pack of cereal. “We could swing by your place, maybe check if they need marshmallows or such up there…”

Harry touched his forehead, felt his pulse. No hangovers or acid trips. Only himself to take the blame. It should have made the realisation more powerful, but nothing seeped into the void.

He groaned, effectively interrupting Nick’s monologue. “I haven’t fed my cat.”

“Oh, I called your neighbour, made sure she took care of it. She had a key and everything.”

Harry wondered how his finger hadn’t gone purple yet, given how tightly Nick was wrapped around it.

“Here,” Nick said as he deposited a bowl of breakfast on the nightstand. “Certainly nothing fancy, but I hope lunch will be proper. We should get going.”

 

 

❄

 

A countless stream of snow and trees whirled by outside the car. Harry could tell they were different, given the various amount of gnarls and thickness of their boughs, but they all looked like meagre fingers raking the skies for hope. The scene flickered by in quiet, as Nick had given up on communication after two hours and shut the radio off. Single grits flung against the vehicle.

Stacks of the newly bought clothing covered the back seat, some of it in baskets, some of it on the floor. So far, Harry had managed to maintain the state of nothingness, but the more signs titled _Ashurst_ they passed, the heavier weighed the dread within. Nick didn’t take notice, of course. Harry hadn’t opened his mouth since they left the city.

They left the road and headed onto a pristine path into the woods, only soiled by a single, blatant wheel track. The identical fauna grew denser until the landscape cracked open in an enormous lake. They continued along a somewhat shovelled path.

Nick tried rousing him.

“Wake up, love. The camping is just up ahead.”

Harry’s shoulder blades drew together backwards. “Don’t call me _love._ Stop calling me that.”

Nick glanced to him, the engine silencing whilst the car bumped to a stop at the foot of a hill. He didn’t say anything, just leaned into the backseat to tuck in their clothes. Harry slipped out of the vehicle, shaking his slumbering limbs awake.

No sound entered the dead world around them. No birds lunged from treetop to treetop. Harry had never camped before, but he believed there to be more life to it. He hugged himself, regretful of refusing mittens. Maybe that would have helped the massive steamroller flattening his insides. Combined with the spiky air around him, every breath was a struggle.

He took up the hill first, one of the baskets hung in his elbow. Upon its crowning he saw the pluming smoke, heard the tinkle of banter and failure to raise tents, and the lump of winter clothing too large that was Louis. Harry couldn’t remember Niall being invited, but the bloke pried a sack of tent pegs from Zayn’s fist to interrupt the light-hearted quarrel. The chattering didn’t interrupt when they spotted Harry.

A small salute was given by Zayn, whereas Anna urged Niall to help her with her and Zayn’s tent. Louis stopped mid-way into making a snowball. His radiant beaming brought Harry away from the guilt, almost made him run the last bit to sit and chat by the fire. But then Nick’s shoes crunched up the hill behind him and his heartbeat slowed to an ominous thump. Louis spun to the group, incoherent words streaming from his mouth as he jerked his fist towards each of them.

Brushing Harry in passing, Nick silently urged him forward.

“You finally made it,” Zayn said and relieved Nick of some of the luggage. The rest of it fell to heap with earlier packing.

“The car almost broke down,” Nick said.

“It wasn’t here, was it? Louis tried clearing the way up here but we needed more help with setting up camp than that. Our car rolled here painlessly.”

Harry stared towards Louis, torn between wanting his attention and cowering from it. Louis kept his gaze fixed on the flaps of tent jerking in the breeze which had dusted his nose and cheeks in red.

Nick had apparently done the same. When he turned back to Zayn, he asked, “He didn’t know I was coming, did he?”

“To be fair,” Zayn said, “Half our squad was improvised. I wouldn’t take it as an insult.”

“He doesn’t like me much,” Nick said. Zayn merely shrugged, knowing Nick’s statement didn’t require a response.

“For sleeping arrangements, I was thinking you and Niall could share a tent.” Zayn glanced over at Louis, who was watching them from the tent. Anna stood next to him, gently touching his arm.

Zayn winked at him. Louis didn’t smile.

“Oh. I thought I’d get to share with Harry,” Nick said. He realized Louis was staring and grinned evilly. “You know, considering recent events we’ve become… closer.”

Louis’ fingers clenched into fists. Anna murmured soothing words to him, trying to calm him down.

“Why don’t you stick to sharing with Niall?” Zayn suggested. He leaned into Nick’s space to whisper in his ear. “I think things will be easier for everyone that way.”

Nick nodded. “Right.”

“We’re friends, anyway. Right, Nick?” Niall slung an arm around his shoulder.

Nick glanced at Harry, who cowered away from his gaze.

“Right,” he said.

Sensing Louis’ discomfort, Anna strode towards Nick. Louis eyed her, confused. She was up to something.

Snow crunched underneath her knee high boots. Damp laces stuck to the front of her boots, tips brushing against the ground as she walked. She smiled warmly at Nick, trying to come across as nonchalant.

“Can you help me put the other tents up?” she asked, gesturing to the heap on the ground. She looked to Zayn. “Can you help, too, babe?”

“Sure.” He kissed her briefly on the lips. Anna smiled into it. She giggled when they separated, exhilarated. Zayn’s eyes gleamed.

Now that the dip by the fire had cleared, Harry took a seat in a blue folding chair. Harry remembered it from Louis’ balcony. It smelt like cigarette smoke, and his fingers twitched with the need to hold a cigarette. He could almost taste the chemicals on his tongue.

Niall lowered himself down in a chair across the fire pit. Louis sat beside him. Harry couldn’t meet his gaze. The need to smoke became greater.

“You didn’t tell me Zayn was coming,” Harry heard Niall say. “Zayn fucking Malik, Louis.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “When is your infatuation with him going to wear off?”

“Never,” Niall said. “He’s so cool, Lou. And famous. And rich.”

“He’s also a right ass,” Louis said. Fondness creeped into his voice. “Once you get to know him he won’t seem so great. He’s exactly like us, Niall. He just happens to be beautiful.”

 _Beautiful_.

Harry recalled how Louis called him that when they were fucking. His eyes were wide when he said it and he couldn’t keep his hands to himself; kept caressing his skin like it was the softest thing he had ever touched. He looked so enamoured that for a second, Harry believed him when he said he was beautiful.

Louis caught his eyes, and Harry had to look away. The sad, hurt look on Louis’ face was imprinted behind his eyelids. It haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t hold on any longer. It felt like the cigarettes were burning a hole in his pocket, begging to be smoked.

Harry reached for the package. A cigarette slid into his palm, cool to the touch from the outside temperature. He slipped his lighter from his pocket and lit the cig. He breathed out a sigh of relief after the first drag, instantly calmed. The temporary relief wore off soon enough when he looked into Louis’ eyes, staring back at him. He lit another cigarette and ignored the rush of shame that came over him.

The crunch of the snow under his boots alerted Harry of Nick’s presence before his arms. They winded around his chest, crushing him to a solid body. Nick’s warmth didn’t make him feel soothed the way his cigarette did, especially not with the way Louis was looking at them with hatred in his eyes.

“Tent’s up, love,” Nick said, planting a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Paired with the use of the despised nickname, the harshness of his lips didn’t do anything for Harry. He wiggled away from Nick in shame. He couldn’t stand seeing Louis look so hurt.

“Okay,” Harry said. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Thought we could go for a round two,” Nick said. “Relive last night and all its glory.”

His lips trailed up his throat and to his jaw. Harry pushed him away before he could mark him.

“I’d treat you better than anyone else,” Nick said. This time he spoke louder, looking right at Louis, twisting the knife in a fresh wound.

With a clenched jaw, Louis stood up from his chair. It toppled over from the abrupt force of his actions. Niall glanced at him with concern while Nick only chuckled.

“Got a problem, Tomlinson?” he asked.

Louis grinded his teeth.

“I think you should back off,” he said.

“Oh, really?” Nick crossed his arms, smug. “What are you going to do about it?”

For a moment, Louis’ face was completely blank. His eyes flickered to Harry, not lingering, then locked on Nick.

With clenched fists, Louis stepped forward and punched Nick right in the face. Nick stumbled back in surprise, blood smeared across his cheek. He quickly regained his footing and punched Louis in the jaw. Louis recoiled at the sharp blow, briefly touching the source of his pain. A bruise was sure to form.

Harry scrambled from his seat to avoid being hit. He cowered behind Niall’s chair and his cigarette dropped from his trembling fingers.

Niall leapt from his seat but seemed to be frozen in place, unsure of how to stop them. Severe discomfort flashed across his face. In the cloak of turmoil, he slipped from the scene. ~~~~

Nick and Louis toppled to the ground, Nick on top of him. He hit him below his eye where his skin was the most sensitive. A gash formed across his cheek from his nail. Louis rolled on top of Nick, pinning him to the ground. He landed blows to his chest and to his face, blinded by rage.

The commotion alerted Anna and Zayn. He pushed Louis off of Nick and dragged him across the campsite by his hood. Nick spat a mixture of blood and saliva on the ground. He lunged for Louis, but Anna held him back.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” she asked. “Jesus Christ.”

“Let go of me,” Nick hissed.

Anna narrowed her eyes. “I think we all need to cool off. Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

She led Nick out of the campsite and down the path that was covered with piles of snow. Harry watched them go until he could no longer make out Anna’s bright pink coat.

Though Zayn refused to let up his grip, Louis continued thrashing.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zayn said, with his boots jammed into a small snowbank for footing. “Calm down, before you hurt anyone else.”

Louis’ eyes skimmed over the camping site, searching for living remains until his eyes landed on Harry. Their voices became more hushed. Louis’ eyes cooled and Zayn kept a single hand on his shoulder instead of two fists.

The deafening nothingness lay to rest on Harry’s back. He wanted to slip from his skin, dissolve in the harsh winter and soar to hide deep in the woods. He could feel himself losing touch with his surroundings, with his thoughts. If this was the prelude to another stroke, he wouldn’t argue.

When he came to, his pale fingers had curled around the back of one of the chairs. His old cigarette had since long stopped smouldering, where it lay under bits of snow and coal. Plucking it from the ground, he straightened himself up.

Louis strode towards him. Unable to disguise his wide eyes, Harry just gawked, taking a few steps from the chair. Every breath he drew, he drew on shaky ground.

Louis took a seat by the fire and burrowed into his oversized jacket—perhaps one of Zayn’s. He unpacked the food and impaled the hot dogs with whatever sticks he could find in his vicinity, pouring more fuel on the coal. While fighting, Nick and he must have come across a rock or misplaced branch, because a bloody slit now blossomed on his cheekbone. As if feeling Harry’s eyes burning through him, he scooped a handful of snow and pressed it to the wound.

Harry set off along a trail into the woods; the one Anna and Nick hadn’t disappeared down. The acrid pinch of food disappeared gradually. His mind shouted at him to return and sit by Louis, but his body kept moving, lighting another cigarette. The longer he could avoid consequences and reality, the better.

Just as the world began to dim, he found himself at the crown of a precipice. A valley cracked open the woods below. One arm of the lake he had heard about dug through it, culminating in a small tarn around which someone had built picnic benches and stacked logs for firewood. More people than them sought solace here during the winter months, Harry figured.

Aged warning signs hung along the railing. He treaded forward, wary of ice specks beneath the white fluff, but only met with solidity. He braced his arms on the railing.

Another set of footfalls came up behind him. Zayn made his presence known with a cough.

“Can you imagine if paps had followed us here?” he said.

Harry’s mouth twitched. He ducked his head, let his chin rest against his naked hands on the railing. He accepted the lighter Zayn offered though he kept his own in his pocket.

They competed in silence to see who could puff the largest cloud of smoke, which turned out to be much more difficult than expected as half of it came from their breaths. So plummeted the sun and left them in a thick gloom, only eased by the flashlight on Zayn’s phone.

Harry pretended to stand on the balcony for a second, preferably Zayn’s. He pretended to hear the resounding traffic, the crowded pubs and restaurants. He blinked and the serene valley popped up before him again. Brushing his parched knuckles, he let the cigarette fizzle out on the rotten wood.

“I hate myself,” he said.

It didn’t ease his hammering heart like expected. He still struggled to keep himself from trembling, from hauling himself over the railing towards an easy escape. Hadn’t he gone on long enough to know there wasn’t a way out?

Zayn removed pine needles from his gloves, glued to the fabric with resin. He gave up after a few short seconds.

“So do I sometimes,” he said.

Harry wanted to retort. He wanted to say that there had been a time before, when he could let everything pass before his eyes without a care, when he had the energy to leave it all alone. Something had happened along that way, battered him to someone he didn’t recognise. He wanted to say that it was different, between them, because he couldn’t wake up as himself anymore or recall how he used to be. That during the rare, slow minutes when he entered apathy, he felt blissful. That sometimes, he missed the agony.

In the silence that followed, he asked for another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week we continue with the camping and shit hits the fan, as you say. To get better, one must sometimes hit rock-bottom first, and we're on our way...


	11. Chapter 11

The sun roused Louis from sleep. Light shone through the tent flap, casting yellow beams over his cheeks. Banging of pots and Anna’s enthusiastic shouts prevented him from falling back to sleep. Blinking groggily, Louis turned his head to look at the snoring lump curled up on the other side of the tent. A smile tugged at his lips.

The melodic sound of Harry’s breathing made Louis ache with the urge to gather him in his arms. He remembered the way Harry shivered during the night after they fucked weeks ago. He had nuzzled closer; tucked his head into Louis’ neck and sought out his warmth in the freezing kitchen. Louis yearned for that again.

He eased out of his sleeping bag and shivered. Goose bumps broke out on his bare arms when his skin became exposed to the cool air. Louis reached for his jacket and shrugged it on. He zipped it to his chin and flicked the hood up.

Slipping into his boots, Louis cast another glance at Harry. His lips were parted, soft snuffling sounds coming from his mouth. Bare skin poked out from his sleeping bag, and Louis’ eyebrows furrowed. Harry’s shirt lay forgotten on the tent floor. His lack of proper clothing caused him to shiver, and his lips began to turn blue. If he remained this way for any longer he would surely get sick.

Louis wrestled to free his blanket from his sleeping bag. He draped it over Harry, tucking the corners in gently, careful not to wake him. Harry made a disgruntled noise and rolled onto his side. Louis swooned.

He zipped the tent on his way out. The smell of cooking food hit his nose and he walked towards the picnic bench, where Zayn and Anna had a portable stove set up, cooking pancakes and bacon. Niall sat nearby, drinking from a mug of coffee. Loud snores coming from his tent told Louis Nick was still asleep.

“Good morning,” Anna said cheerfully. “The kettle is still hot if you want some coffee.”

“Thanks.”

“Harry still sleeping?” Niall asked.

“Yeah,” Louis answered. “He stayed up late last night. His phone kept me up.”

Zayn and Anna exchanged a smug look that Louis didn’t catch.

“We were thinking of going skating today,” Zayn said as Louis poured boiling water into a mug. “Anna and I checked out the lake this morning. It’s completely frozen, so no one’s gonna die.”

Louis pretended to look upset. “Damn it. I was going to suggest throwing Nick in and letting him freeze.”

Zayn sighed. “Louis—”

“I know, I know. I need to be nicer,” Louis said. He sat in the chair beside Niall. Hot liquid sloshed around in his mug. A fair amount spilled over and burned him on the thigh. Louis swore and dropped his mug on the ground.

“Here.” Anna passed him a wad of paper towel so he could dry his pants.

Zayn flipped the pancakes onto a plate and passed it to Anna. She set it down on the picnic table and quickly turned to collect the plate of bacon. A pot of hot chocolate simmered on one of the burners. The sweet smell wafted in Louis’ direction, causing his mouth to water.

“Can someone wake up Harry and Nick?” Zayn asked.

A quick glance at Zayn told Louis he meant business. But Louis was ever the arguer, and he crossed his arms haughtily.

“Niall can wake up Nick,” he said. “I’ll get Harry.”

Zayn went to speak, but Anna placed her small palm on his chest. She gave him a serious look, using her eyes to tell him to be calm.

“That’s fine,” she said, obviously trying to spare an argument. “Zayn and I will get the table set up while you do that.”

Niall sighed, too comfy to move. As he forced himself to stand, Louis headed towards the tent where Harry slept. Snowflakes dusted his cheeks, leaving water droplets on his skin as they melted.

Harry hadn’t moved an inch. He stirred when Louis reached out to gently nudge his shoulder but didn’t wake.

“Harry,” Louis murmured.

He kneeled down by his head so his face was level with Harry’s. This close, it was almost impossible not to kiss him.

“Harry,” he said again, shaking the shoulder rougher.

“Hmm?”

Harry’s eyes slowly fluttered open. He stifled a yawn with his hand, emitting a squeaking sound. Louis bit his lip so Harry couldn’t see his fond smile.

“Morning,” he said. “Breakfast is ready. Zayn told me to come get you. We’re going ice skating after we eat so if I were you I’d put on your warmest clothes.”

Harry wiped the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Louis tried not to stare at his bare chest but it was almost near impossible. Harry glanced at the blanket snuggly wrapped around his torso and blinked up at Louis in confusion.

“Where did this come from?” he asked.

“You were shivering when you woke up, so I covered you up.” Louis shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. He thought it would be quite embarrassing if Louis could see just how gone he was for him. Louis was sure he already had an idea.

“I’ll be up in a few minutes,” Harry said. When Louis didn’t take the hint to leave, he raised a brow. “Do you mind? I’m kind of naked here.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Louis muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

Steaming plates lay on the picnic bench by the time Louis returned. Nick sat at the bench bundled up in his winter gear. He was the only one in the group wearing snow pants. Louis snorted at the sight.

“Got enough on?” he asked.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Louis.”

Bruises littered his jaw. Every time Louis touched his cheek he felt throbbing pain. Purple marks along his cheekbones and a gash by his lip matched Nick’s battered face.

Harry stumbled to the picnic table by the time Louis had finished half the food on his plate. The only empty space was between himself and Nick.

Harry curled in on himself as he sat down, but Nick scooted closer. He didn’t understand boundaries. Harry moved closer to Louis, who quickly squeezed his thigh. He struggled to remove his hand, but he didn’t want to push him away.

Every so often, Harry’s fingers would brush against his as they ate. Louis wasn’t sure if it was purposeful or not, but a few times he caught Harry smiling and wondering if he felt the same rush he did, the same tingling sensation.

Niall and Nick cleaned the dishes while Anna and Zayn poured the hot chocolate into thermoses. Harry occupied himself with something on the side, observing, while Louis did his best to stay away. If he pretended to be bored, then they’d force him to work. Too eager and it’d be the same outcome. He played it nonchalantly, knowing from previous experience that this was the best option for getting away with not working.

Once the dishes were cleared, the walk to the lake began. Zayn promised it was brisk, but ten minutes later, Louis started wondering just how _brisk_ it really was. Momentarily he thought about reaching over and taking Harry’s hand, but he decided against it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted closeness or distance, and clouding his brain with Harry wasn’t the way to figure it out, especially not with Nick hawking the camp.

Louis brushed passed him and caught up with Zayn. He was busy chatting with Anna, but he closed as mouth as soon as he heard Louis’ distinct footfalls. Whatever they were conversing about, they didn’t want Louis to hear.

“Something on your mind?” Zayn asked.

Louis shrugged. “I can’t remember how to skate.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “So? That’s not worth this level of unhappiness. What’s really bothering you, Lou? Something with Harry?”

“Am I that transparent?” he asked.

“Yes,” Anna said.

Louis pivoted his head back to where the rest of the group marched a few steps behind, chattering. As long as he kept his voice down, he would go unnoticed.

Turning back, he surrendered in a relieved breath at finally venting.

“Something’s up with him,” Louis said. “Something more than usual. And I don’t know what it could be because he never talks to me.” His jaw tensed. “And what’s Nick even doing here? I doubt he just _happened_ to tag along.”

Zayn shot a thumb towards Anna.

“We’re friends,” she said, sighing. “I’m sorry that you two hate each other’s guts so much, but you’re not the only ones on this trip.”

She was right. Louis knew it, knew he was selfish. He just wouldn’t have minded Nick’s presence if said presence didn’t slobber all over Harry.

“It’s so stupid, I know. I don’t… I don’t own Harry or anything. Just thought we were going somewhere, you know? I want us to go somewhere.”

Anna hooked an arm in his, patting down his jacket with her free hand.

“It’s truly adorable to see you this whipped,” she said. “Between us, I don’t think Harry would be here if he didn’t feel something for you. And whatever’s on his mind—“ She threw a glance backwards. “—It seems to be easing.”

Louis followed her stare to where Niall had the widest grin on his face. Next to him, Harry cupped his mouth, his face scrunched in muffled laughter.

 

❄

Louis skated off to the side with Harry, watching Anna lap them. Zayn chased her around, causing happy shrieks and laughter. Louis looked at Harry, smoking a cigarette and lost in his own head, and wondered if they would ever have anything like that.

“If we were to race, which one of us do you think would win?” Harry asked, breaking Louis from his thoughts.

Louis wasn’t lying when he told Zayn he didn’t know how to skate, but still, eager to impress Harry, he countered his bet.

“I don’t know. Why don’t we find out?” he said.

Harry’s lips twitched. He flicked his cigarette into the snow and pushed his foot back, propelling himself forward.

“You’re on.”

He dashed off, skating to the edge of their homemade rink and back by the time Louis had taken four wobbly steps.

Louis smiled sheepishly.

“Confession: I’m shit at skating.”

Harry cracked a half grin and reached for Louis’ hands. The grip he held was loose, but the gesture still felt intimate. Louis glanced down at their joint hands with red cheeks.

“I’ll show you,” Harry murmured. He skated backwards, pulling Louis along. “Just push your feet out.”

Louis tried to do what Harry instructed, but it wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. He toppled over, sending himself and Harry sprawled out on the ice. They landed with an audible  _thud_  and a fit of giggles. Louis smiled widely; he hadn’t heard Harry laugh like this in ages—maybe ever.

Harry looked beautiful with his pink cheeks and a red nose. Green eyes peered up at him, chapped lips spread over his teeth. Louis couldn’t stop himself from sneaking a quick to his left dimple.

“Do you think we could go for a hot chocolate break?” Louis asked. “My ass is sore from all this falling.”

“Help me up?” Harry said.

Carefully, Louis climbed to his feet. He braced his hands on the ice to steady himself. Only when he was pissed drunk did he feel this off balance. He extended a hand and helped Harry to his feet. As soon as Harry was standing, his arm dropped back down.

They collapsed into a snow bank. Louis reached for the thermoses of hot chocolate and passed one to Harry, keeping the other for himself. They drank in silence, watching the others skate and warming their bellies with hot liquid.

Louis fingers brushed against Harry’s, but he didn’t intertwine their fingers. Louis’ heart was beating wildly. He would love to reach over and pull Harry close, holding him while they sipped their drinks, but he was too scared.

Slowly, Harry twined their fingers. He squeezed gently, but kept his gaze on the ice rink. Nick caught sight of their hands as he skated by and glared. Louis’ grin turned smug, and he scooted closer so his thigh nudged Harry’s. Neither pulled away. Unable to bridle the warmth bubbling inside, Louis drank him in, thinking that if he could spend the rest of his life doing this, he wouldn’t hesitate.

 

❄

 

If it had still been day, the smoke from the bonfire would have been seen across the entire stretch of England.

Niall had been put in charge of the cooking, which was a mystery to everyone but Zayn, who had offered him the position. As far as Louis knew, he couldn’t make much besides coffee. Whereas dominating the camp on one hand, he always shrunk whenever Zayn asked him something, or spared him a moment’s attention.

Harry and Louis hid away by the bonfire, bundled in spare clothes. There was that unspoken chasm between them that had grown bigger the more parts of Harry Louis unwrapped, but now it seemed barely notable.

Together they had wandered the woods until dusk. Harry had brought him to a cliff with an outlook over a secluded valley and they had etched words into the wooden railing. Before returning to the camp they had kissed until Louis’ entire body numbed and he couldn’t move his toes.

Now he could glance to his side, where Harry perched on the same log as he. In the breath of fire, Harry’s lips popped, swollen and pink. Louis touched his own mouth. He let his fingers tread over forbidden creases and cuts, still hot.

Of course he had imagined them like this, natural and at ease—countless times—but he had never been able to paint a physical picture. He had never had the courage to imagine them like this.

“I don’t know if this qualifies as a date,” Louis began gently, as if picking his famous last words. “I mean, technically I’ve taken you _out,_ though I admit it wasn’t initially on my list of ideas.

“This is all right,” Harry said. He snorted softly at Louis’ stunned expression.

“I’ll take you out again, if I may. Someplace warmer.”

Harry hummed, slipping farther into Louis’ side. He fit there so easily. It still awed Louis.

“I’ve never camped before,” Harry said. “You probably knew that.”

“I guessed. You’re too delicate for it. You sure can skate, though.”

They pulled back as Niall came stumbling over the grounds, branches and their packaged dinner in his arms.

“It’s almost done,” he said in passing. “Good to see you’re keeping warm.”

Louis tightened his arm around Harry, rubbed his shoulder, watching the evening unfold before them. Surely he could have done more for their first date, but holing up with Harry beneath five layers of winter clothing sufficed more than well for him.

“What’s the best date you’ve been on?” he asked. He pressed a hand to his heart. “I promise I won’t be upset if don’t choose this trip. Or the semi-charred pizza.”

Fragments from the fire skipped across the snow, tinted it in greys and blacks. Harry shuffled snow with the toe of his worn boot.

“I think this is it,” he said. “No one’s taken me out before.”

“Out or _out_ -out?” Louis chuckled, but Harry’s expression didn’t change. “Honestly? You never had any serious boyfriends? Or girlfriends?”

Harry shrugged, distracted by the flames. “Guess not. You?”

The sharp physical sensation came over Louis again, the one that enclosed him when Harry withdrew. Louis racked his brain for a change of subject, but then he stilled on Zayn, who slouched in one of the chairs after dropping his fifth marshmallow into the fiery pit.

“Actually,” Louis said. “I was close with our model over there before Miss Anna Cadwallader was.”

Harry stared. “No. I don’t believe you.”

“I wouldn’t call it serious, but it could have been. We were young, on the road, having fun. He was a lot of my firsts.”

“But…” Harry exhaled, muddled. “You live together. Must be weird.”

“I don’t harbour romantic feelings for him. And Anna’s great. I just wish their sex would be quieter.”

“But he’s _Zayn._ Why wouldn’t you want him?”

“I can see the appeal, but no. Though it sounds like you’d have him over me.”

Harry finally tore his eyes from the man, huddling deeper into Louis’ jacket. “No.” He gauged Louis, ran an index finger across the outgrowth on his chin. “It’s growing again. Your stubble.”

“Yeah? Want me to shave?”

“No. Let it grow a bit. Looks good on you.”

He repeated the motion, eyes flickering up to meet Louis’.

Despite being well aware of the goofy grin budding on his face, Louis did nothing to tame it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

Louis ducked in, one finger still on his chin. Faint sparks popped on Harry’s lips, more of a drizzle than fireworks, and Louis’ eyes fluttered shut. He was numb again. It scared him sometimes, how he lost himself so whole-heartedly, how every thought that didn’t circle around Harry washed away.

Misty green eyes peered up at him when he pulled back. He didn’t have time to think before Harry’s lips were on him again, lingering in the corner of his mouth, a hint of tongue below the softness. He let Harry guide him, move his hand to the hem of Harry’s unzipped jacket as the heat between them blossomed. He couldn’t distinguish the brush of the bonfire from the sweeps of Harry’s fingers, at his nape, in his hair.

“Are you two planning on joining us, ever?” Anna shouted.

They parted, disgruntled.

“Coming!” Louis announced. He nudged his nose against Harry’s, reluctant to pull away. “We’ve got all night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. It was obvious he didn’t want to leave their small bubble of warmth either.

Louis couldn’t resist stealing another kiss. He loved the way Harry’s lips felt on his, the way it felt to be close to him like that. Harry’s presence made him happier.

“Come on.”

Extending a hand, he pulled Harry to his feet. Hand in hand, they joined the others at the fire. Steaming plates of food sat on the ground in front of their chairs. As Harry walked past him towards the second chair, Louis tugged on his arm to get him to stay.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just—do you wanna sit on my lap?” Louis asked. His face flushed bright red and he averted his gaze.

Harry gave a small smile. He lowered himself down on Louis’ lap and snuggled up to his chest. From this position he could feel Louis’ breath on his neck and his cold nose against his skin. He passed Louis his plate and leaned back against him.

Louis took a bite of chicken. “Food’s good, Niall.”

Harry hummed his agreement. Murmured praise caused Niall to grin bashfully. Louis was surprised; the only time Niall cooked for him had been a charred bagel and macaroni.

“Babe.” Louis poked Harry’s cheek with his finger to get his attention. His stomach fluttered at the smile Harry tried to hide.

Louis held a sliver of chicken up to his mouth. Harry took it with his lips, sticky fingers pressed against his mouth. He nuzzled his cheek against Louis’ hand and kissed the centre of his palm.

Louis stared into those gorgeous eyes, smiling. The fire reflected in his eyes, flames flickering and dancing in his dark pupils. Louis leaned in to kiss him, licking inside his mouth, well aware of the eyes on them. He pulled away to lean his forehead against Harry’s, fingertips trailing over his cheek.

Nick cleared his throat.

“Hey, Louis?”

From the moment they had sat down, Nick’s gaze had hailed upon them like molten iron, glaring past all conversation. With the pad of his thumb pressed to his mouth, his gleaming eyes became even more apparent, like a child about to cause havoc.

When Harry stopped lapping at his finger, Louis stared back. “What?”

“Remember that day we ran into each other? You know that Harry was at my place, right?”

Louis pulled back to look at him. Everything about Nick screamed bad decisions.

“And?” he said.

Nick bit back a grin, giving a little shrug.

“Harry didn’t want to leave the flat, so I went out to get some clothes that weren’t covered in come. Your boy there is really exquisite when he moans.”

Louis’ blood ran cold. It clicked—why they had arrived together, Nick’s advances, Harry’s stiffness and his sudden affection. Harry confirmed his doubts by going rigid against him, shame colouring his cheeks red.

With anger bubbling in his gut, Louis pushed him off, stood up. He didn’t want to touch Harry, didn’t want to look at him.

“Fuck you,” he said, so low it stung.

Nick only snorted. “It’s not like you were something, anyway.”

“Nick,” Anna snapped. “Enough.”

Louis turned towards her.

“Did you know about this?” he demanded, staring her down.

Zayn clasped her hand, shy of meeting Louis’ eyes whereas Anna cowered under his stare.

“No,” she whispered.

Louis looked to Zayn. He shook his head in response.

Harry reached for him. If Louis weren’t so mad he might have taken the tears gleaming in his eyes as a sign of regret.

“Louis—”

“Leave me alone.”

A sudden wave of disappointment settled over him. He stormed across the campsite, muttering under his breath as he unzipped the tent and stepped inside. He waited for the destructive _What did I do?_ to roll in. It never came.

Outside, toxic silence settled over the camp.

Louis stripped himself down to a tee and burrowed himself in his sleeping bag, ignoring how much of a child he felt in hiding. He kicked over thermoses and toothpaste as he curled up. Voices started firing threats and apologies to each other beyond the flaps of his tent. He heard Nick asking forgiveness, probably on his way to seize Harry’s arm, try to make him stay. Louis knew that it never worked.

Breaching a second silence, boots crunched towards his tent, halting right in front of it. Then the soughing wind let out a final breath as the zip opened and shut.

Louis braced himself and emerged from the depths of his sleeping bag.

Harry sat there, face dotted in red and something wild in his eyes. Louis had never seen him so expressive.

Neither spoke. Knees to his chest, Louis gauged him, unsure whether to soften his gaze or not.

“Nick,” was all he managed. It was the only thing he was sure of.

Harry opened his mouth but shut it within seconds.

Louis swallowed. “I know we aren’t… I want to be with you, but it’s hard when I don’t know what’s going on with you. Harry, please talk to me.”

The sharp edge in his eyes faded. Harry crawled to him, stopping a few inches away. Louis’ hand claimed his waist, reluctantly breathing him in. A thumb swept across the cut on his cheek.

Louis unzipped the sleeping bag while they kissed, eyelids fluttering. Nimble fingers shed his tee and gently pressed him to the ground. He didn’t have the will to pull back. Harry’s kisses were heavenly treacherous.

“Please,” Louis whispered against his lips.

Harry lifted his shirt above his head and discarded it. His fingers traced lines on Louis’ bare chest, desperate to fight the cold, his eyes still hidden in a dull sheen. Louis’ sleeping bag wrapped tightly around them.

“Sorry,” Harry breathed out without much impact.

Their kisses became fervent. Harry’s hips grinded into his, chasing the soft touch. One of the thermoses jutted into Louis’ back and made him painfully aware of their surroundings. Their tent’s lantern swayed dangerously on heaps of clothing and equipment. The voices outside spoke in a casual cadence. He wondered if the outline of their bodies danced across the tent walls.

Harry pressed closer until every part of him touched Louis. Breaking their kiss, he reached between them for Louis’ underwear. Louis gathered the strength to disengage, touching his lips.

“No, Harry,” he said.

Harry’s face fell. Louis swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried not to cave at the sight of his dejected expression. This was always a prelude to Louis ending up alone in a shabby bathroom stall, or eating burnt bacon by himself.

Harry unzipped the sleeping bag and stuck one leg out. Embarrassment was prominent in his pink cheeks.

Louis reached for his hand. He pulled Harry back to him, so close that their noses were touching.

“Don’t run from me,” he whispered.

Harry curled up against Louis, ragged breaths wafting against his skin. They lay there clinging to each other in the confined space. Louis reached out to gently tuck a loose ringlet behind Harry’s ear. He kept his hand against Harry cheek, knuckles brushing against his chin.

Slowly, Harry stretched out on Louis’ chest. He felt the thrum of his heartbeat against his palm, brushing his thumb along his skin. Louis pulled Harry closer, winding his fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. He tugged at them gently to hear Harry’s breath hitch.

Louis left a trail of soft kisses on Harry’s forehead. He shifted so they were curled into each other, so all their limbs were aligned. He stroked a palm down Harry’s back, over old scratch marks and the prominent knots in his spine; he couldn’t get enough of how soft Harry’s skin was under his hand.

“You deserve better,” Louis murmured.

Harry remained silent.

They didn’t sleep. They held each other in the darkness of the tent, the sound of their breathing and Louis’ occasional sniffles the only thing breaking the silence. He nuzzled his face into Harry’s neck and breathed him in. Harry reeked of tobacco, but the underlying scent of lavender soap comforted Louis.

Just as he was drifting off, Louis heard Harry whisper a single word.

“Safe.”

He pressed his smile into Harry’s skin. He was unsure if he meant to say it, or if he imagined it, but the way Harry snuggled closer and winded his arms around him was all the confirmation he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 17/1: Due to life getting between things, chapter twelve will be up next Saturday, 23/1. Thank you for your support and patience, it means the world x


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Everything is back on track again, so expect chapter thirteen to be up on the 30th. In this chapter, we bring back the pining. We hope you enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated, as always x

The sleeping bag became significantly more spacious in the morning. Louis kept running his hand through the emptiness, curling his fingers into it. The cold soon washed upon him and he draped himself in any garments he could lay his hands on.

He peered out between the tent flaps, towards Nick and Niall’s hideout. Part of him expected Harry to emerge, bundled in cheap new clothing. But no one’s head reared in the zipped opening.

Louis ventured out. Winds had dusted the bonfire white and battered it to a heap of blackened branches. He kicked at an ice slide curling over one of the logs and cursed under his breath when it didn’t give away. Someone had forgotten a blanket there, so he shook it clean and folded it to a cushion.

Once he got a fire going, he stared at the orange dancing before his eyes. His frostbitten cheeks glowed in the broken halo of winter, in shame and insecurity. He found himself spying around the camp site, searching for a crown of unruly brown hair to run into his arms.

For a moment he wondered if Harry was in a snow mound somewhere, cold and alone like Louis felt. He wanted to hold Harry in his arms and make sure the night before was something real. If it weren’t for the lingering feeling of Harry’s touch, he thought he almost imagined it.

Turning again, he saw one of the tents spit out Anna. She weighed her options by the entrance, arms crossed over her chest, before relenting. Cautious steps brought them closer until she reached the log. Louis met her gaze.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

“Me neither.”

She swayed for another moment. Accepting his wordless permission, she sat down on the blanket he had prepared. She watched him as he examined the grounds in restless exploration. He huffed out a sigh and curled in on himself, threw a final glance to the tents.

“He’s not with Nick,” Anna said.

Louis nodded.

“I know,” she continued, “Because I could barely sleep. I’ve been up since long before dawn. Zayn’s still deep under.”

“He can sleep through anything, can’t he?”

Anna smiled half-heartedly. She turned her attention to the fire.

“It’s soothing,” she said.

Louis hummed.

They watched the fickle light in silence, content just sitting together.

Louis hated being alone. And even though Anna wasn’t Harry and didn’t soothe him like Harry’s presence would have, Louis was grateful. Growing up in a noisy house made it impossible for him to be in complete silence. It was part of the reason he always had a roommate.

Crunching boots alerted Louis of another presence. He looked over his shoulder just as Niall crested the edge of the campsite. Louis unfolded a chair for him so Niall had a place to sit.

“Harry’s by the lake,” he said. “He’s… He’s upset.”

Louis glanced at him. “Why?”

“He didn’t want to hurt you, Louis,” Niall said. “I know he’s difficult, or that he can’t always express what’s up, but he cares.”

Louis could tell there was more to it, but he didn’t push.

“He slept with Nick.”

“And he feels bad about it. I saw him. Believe me. He made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any feelings there. Seems like last night went all right?”

Louis averted his gaze. Harry had been placid, almost relaxed when they were tangled up. He thought they had opened up a door that had been barricaded with steel and barbed wire. Obviously that couldn’t have been the case when he still woke up alone.

Niall weighed his next words. “Do you want to push him away or do you want to move on?”

“Move on,” Louis mumbled.

“Then go to him. I think he’ll be happy to see you.”

Louis gathered up a blanket from the picnic bench and headed off in the direction of the lake, muttering curses towards Niall under his breath. The path winded around snow banks, twisting as far as Louis could see. The wind ruffled his hair and he tugged his hat down over his red ears.

A bundled lump sat by the frozen water. Louis approached it quietly.

“Hey.”

Harry kept his eyes downcast, sipping on a cigarette. “Hey.”

Louis lowered himself behind him and wrapped the blanket around them.

“Your lips are blue,” Louis said.

Harry shrugged. He leaned back into Louis’ chest, curling up between his legs. His reaction to the warmth was immediate—folding along Louis’ form to draw a shaky breath. Louis didn’t mention the tear stains on his cheeks.

Louis tucked his face into Harry’s neck. The stench of tobacco made his nostrils burn, but he liked the intimacy too much to pull away. He nuzzled against him, kissed him behind the ear.

“I’m here for you,” he said.

Harry tilted his chin up and met his gaze. Louis held him tighter, terrified Harry would run away if he didn’t keep him close.

“You don’t need Nick,” Louis continued. “He’s a douchebag, honestly. He’s using you and you deserve more than that. You’re worth so much more than a quick fuck.”

“Louis—”

“You’ve got me now, Harry, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re beautiful and absolutely lovely I care about you—maybe too much—but we could be so good.  _So good._ You just have to let me in. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Please try to let me in.”

Harry slowed his breathing, and they stayed there clinging to each other as snowflakes sprinkled their cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut when Louis’ chin brushed against his scalp, spoke muffled words.

They would be packing up the camp within a few hours—Anna and Niall had probably kicked off the project already. After an extensive car ride they would be back in London, pacing in different flats in different blocks. Louis couldn’t bear the thought of going back without resolving things. His gloved hand found his way to Harry’s hair, stroking his soft curls in an attempt to distract himself.

“I can’t believe you’re not wearing a hat,” Louis said with a warm chuckle. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Harry cracked a small grin. “But you’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

Louis blushed, continuously overwhelmed by Harry’s effect on him, how little it took.

“Always,” he said.

Harry tilted his chin up, leaning in so close that Louis could feel his breath on his lips. His shaky breaths caused butterflies to erupt in Louis’ gut. He melted into their kiss, threading his fingers through Harry’s hair. His body numbed the longer they kissed, but Louis’ couldn’t stop. He never wanted to.

They cuddled once they parted, all clattering teeth and ruby fingertips. Louis pressed his cheek against Harry’s, soothed. A goofy grin spread across his face.

“We mean something, right?”

Harry was quiet for a second. He played with Louis’ fingers, running his thumb along them and twisting.

“Yes,” he eventually whispered. He sounded timid, but not unsure of himself.

At the back of Louis’ mind lurked an insistent thought. It hadn’t properly left him on his own, spiking intermittently and halting his daily activities. Never had he let himself think of Harry that way, of anyone. A domesticated lifestyle had always been out of his reach, from the times he fooled around abroad to a handful of local boyfriends Zayn would shoo from the flat. Being in love seemed like such a diffuse concept.

Deciding against disgorging his thoughts, Louis just patted Harry’s back and urged him to his feet.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

Harry planted a lingering kiss on Louis’ cheek, significantly hotter than every other aspect of him in the icy wilderness. He hoisted the furry hood of his jacket over his head.

“Niall was here earlier,” he said.

Trekking back along the hidden path, they ducked into each other’s warmth.

“He told me,” Louis said.

“Oh. Did he say anything?”

“Just that something was up, told me where you were, but he didn’t go into any details.”

He choked on the lie, but he didn’t want Harry to run. The fear that things would change back home still frayed his optimism. Even so, it was hard to stay bothered when Harry’s gait had taken on a faint bounce and when he looked ahead instead of at their feet.

Harry didn’t say anything else. An affable silence consumed them, serene like the woods around them. It was only disturbed by their rattling breath, Harry’s in particular as they picked up the pace. Louis thought about Zayn and the condition he had been in before he lit his first cigarette. Opting for a slower walk, Louis soon found that Harry’s rattling settled into more normal patterns.

They crested the campsite an indefinable amount of time later. Like predicted, Louis could see Anna and Niall packing up from where he stood. The fire had been slaughtered and the tents now stood as incomplete skeletons, plummeting under the slightest gust. Zayn walked towards them from the wreckage.

“Where you’ve been?” he said in a sniffle.

“Lake,” Harry supplied before Louis could even attempt speech. His gaze had locked far away. “Where’s Nick?”

Louis felt an involuntary clench in his gut. It lessened when Harry pressed his hand.

“Oh.” Zayn spun backwards. “On his way home, we think. He took off a while ago, didn’t say anything. I’m thinking something might’ve happened in the tent, you know? Niall seemed kinda spooked.”

His chuckle died out when no one smiled.

“Everything should be ready in a few,” he continued, “But since you both bailed I say you go over and offer to finish things up. We’re a team here, and this team is your only chance of getting out of here.”

Patting them on the back as they passed him, he grabbed Louis’ shoulder in an efficient halt. He urged Harry to scurry along and turned to Louis.

“How are things?” he said.

Just as Louis opened his mouth to answer, Zayn gave another obnoxious sniffle. With the back of his glove, he dabbed at his nose.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “This climate is killing me. I was better off cruising the Caribbean. Always a party going on somewhere below deck, gorgeous people, incredible food. Anyway, you were saying?”

Behind him, Harry gestured to the bag of supplies in Anna’s hands and she willingly ladled him with it. If Niall hadn’t steadied him, he would have toppled over.

Louis nodded to himself, then to Zayn. “We’re good. We’re really good.” He paused when Zayn’s grin grew to its double size. “I think I’m starting to see how you feel about Anna.”

Refraining from indulging Zayn in the full extent of his words, he waved dismissively towards their former camp. “I should go over and help him.”

Zayn spotted the faltering clodhopper that was Harry and clicked his tongue.

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Go before he impales someone.”

Louis obeyed. When he got close enough, he gently laid a hand on the aluminium poles hooped in Harry’s arms.

“Need help?” he said.

 

❄

 

The five of them bundled into separate cars twenty minutes later. Louis feigned dizziness and supported himself on Harry. Niall pursed his lips.

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll drive,” he said.

“I had scheduled plans to sleep.”

Niall beckoned the keys. Louis breathed a _yes_ under his breath and tossed them over.

Once out on the roads, trailing behind Anna’s fire red Toyota, Louis shed his winter gear and draped it over himself. The world flickered by in the windows, barren and bleak as they left the forest behind and headed for the countryside. He trained his heavy eyes on Harry’s slanted reflection in the glass, his wet boots pressing into the back of Niall’s seat. Niall was too busy swerving past a few speeding cars to notice.

“You don’t have any bedtime stories, right?” Louis said. His hat covered a majority of his eyes.

Harry tore his gaze from the landscape, peering down.

“Afraid not,” he said. He plucked the hat from Louis’ head and dipped his fingers into the swirls of hair. “Not sure if this will help.”

Sparks coursed through Louis’ body. A moan tickled his throat and he slipped down, tucked against Harry’s side.

“Jesus, right there. That’s wonderful.”

“Can you consider keeping the PDA-levels minimal until we get home?” Niall said.

Louis’ lips grazed Harry’s jacket when he mumbled, “Might be for the better—he’s barely a licensed driver.”

Niall stared at him in the mirror. “Consider it or you’ll drive.”

“All right, I’m asleep.”

It was an easy task with Harry’s fingers hooking in his strands, giving accidental tugs. Just as his body began to numb, something cautious drew him back from slumber. Dulled fingernails darted over his shoulder, following the inked stag and heart.

“Just don’t freeze to death,” Harry said.

Louis could barely hear himself when he replied, “I would never.”

The conversation kept rolling in the car, soft words batted over his head without cohesion. In a mix of subtle bumps in the road and , he slipped away.

He woke to chill wind battering his cheek.

The windows had been rolled down an inch to let out the smoke strings from Harry’s mouth. He poised a cigarette between his fingers. With the bleak city silhouetting the bones in his face, he perfectly matched the engraved image Louis had of him.

Noticing Louis peering up at him, Harry flicked the cigarette through the gap.

“We’re in London,” he said.

Louis crept back into his winter gear. The car barely moved. Niall gripped the steering wheel, muttering something to himself.

As Louis looked on, he neighbourhood grew familiar. Dead vines clawed on rusted pipes and trash flowed from congested bins in the alleys. A tiny Toyota had rolled up on the curb with a plastic figurine dangling in the back window. A flock of youngsters droned by the cramped buildings, past Harry’s flat.

Niall slowed down, aiming to park. Harry gestured for Louis to get up as he tried exiting the vehicle but Louis remained stagnant.

“You wanna sleep over tonight?” Louis asked. His finger trailed up Harry’s T-shirt, drawing a line in the hollow of his chest. “You know, so I won’t have to miss you tonight. The flat’s big enough for the four of us.”

“What about Zayn and Anna?” Harry asked. “Won’t they mind?”

Louis shook his head. His fingers played with a loose thread on Harry’s jeans. “They’re happy for me. Besides, I’ve had to listen to their loud sex for two years. They owe me.”

Harry’s lips twitched. Louis leaned closer, his head nestled into the crook of Harry’s neck. He winded the loose thread around his finger and yanked. Harry glanced down at his thigh with furrowed eyebrows.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing your trousers. The thread was bothering me.”

Harry sighed. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’d rather talk.”

“About?”

“I know what to buy you for Christmas.”

Harry’s hand kept moving in his hair.

“You’re already thinking about that?”

“’Already’? It’s, like, two weeks away. I’m surprisingly late.”

“Never has he ever been in time for work or any kind of social gathering,” Niall chimed from the driver’s seat, “But someone be damned if he passes up on Christmas.”

Louis caught his eye in the mirror.

“Niall, what are you up to? There will always be room for you, yeah?”

“I appreciate the offer but I need to study. And write an essay until Tuesday.” Niall’s head almost fell to the steering wheel in a groan. “Christ, the essay.”

“Wild,” Harry said.

Niall took no notice. “Besides, I have to return the car. I’ll give a rain check on this one.”

He gave them a thumbs up as an _‘I’m fine, enjoy yourselves’._

Louis settled back against Harry. A deep sigh tore from his throat.

“Zayn will want to play Jenga or Scrabble. It’s not up for debate.”

❄

 

”As if spending the entire weekend together wasn’t enough, I’ve prepared a little something, since we have a guest to entertain.”

When no one looked up, Zayn patted the box in his hand so its contents rattled.

“Come on, time to scrabble.”

Grenades exploded on the telly and an injured soldier dragged himself out of a trench. Louis withdrew from his crossword puzzle by the kitchen table and turned towards the noise. On one side of the couch sat Anna, watching the display with one eye whilst highlighting some documents. On the other side Harry had holed up under a blanket, wide-eyed and oblivious to anything going on off-screen.                                          

“He looks plenty entertained,” Louis said and resumed his scribbling.

Zayn let the box drop to his side, all the pieces tumbling to the bottom. “But I’m not. I and all of you are attending this runway thingy tomorrow and I need some excitement in my life before that happens.”

“’Thingy’ being Burberry, I assume,” Anna said without looking up.

“It’s cool, I just have to sit there and look appreciative for the cameras and I’m dragging all of you with me. Now, let’s scrabble.”

While he invaded Louis’ space by pouring letters all over his crossword, Anna got off the couch and zapped off the telly. Harry jolted in surprise.

“Thought there were more episodes?” he said.

They had been watching ever since they came home. Only Anna had gotten up once to fetch water and a bowl of mixed grapes.

“Better to stop now,” she said, stepping around him to get to the table, “Everything picks up in the next one.”

“What even is it?” Louis said. He had his arms folded over his chest as Zayn swept away his work and eagerly replaced it with the board. He shuffled away to make room for Harry’s chair.

“Band of Brothers,” Harry said, sitting down.

Understandable—Anna had seen it eight times while living in the flat. Louis shook his head.

“Don’t let her lure you into the trap.”

“I think I’m already there.”

Zayn passed letters around the table. Louis didn’t understand his love of Scrabble. He preferred Monopoly, but Anna hated it. The three of them played once and she became so bored she started a war with Monopoly chips.

It took about thirty minutes before the improvisation began.

“Okay,” Anna said, “ _Latan._ ”

Zayn tipped his head towards her, deep creases cutting his forehead. “What’s that?”

“It’s a cheaper alternative to _lotion._ ”

“Why don’t you just write _Satan_ and participate as one should?”

“I have an S,” Louis offered.

“No!” Zayn took a moment to breathe, outraged by the lack of enthusiasm in the room.

Harry assessed the scene in silence, eyelids drooping and hair sagging.

“I can do _handal_ as well,” Anna carried on. “You know, the precursor of functional handles—the kind that you pull and instead of opening the door they just fall off?”

Throwing a glance away from his row of letters, Louis caught Harry’s head lolling. His side of the table was a mess of exposed letters and dirty words.

“I say we put it on hold till the morning,” Louis said and met Harry’s dim gaze. “It’s time to stop when Anna can no longer improvise well. And I’m knackered.”

Even Zayn had lost the flare in his eye. He poked at the puzzle they had created, on the verge of flicking the pieces on his opponents. Still he didn’t protest when Louis stood up.

“I’ll tuck everything away and make sure he doesn’t cheat,” Anna said and rubbed her boyfriend’s back.

Leading Harry along the hallway, Louis bid goodnight for them both. Zayn gave a half-hearted wave.

Once in the bedroom, they stared at each other. The glow of streetlights fell onto Harry’s form through sparse blinds. He swayed out of lassitude, rubbing his arm stiff by his side. But he didn’t move. He resembled a sapling in gale, waiting to be ripped from the earth.

The bed creaked as Louis’ weight pressed into it. Crawling across it, he reached Harry, tilted his chin up.

“Come to bed with me?” he asked.

In the brief kiss they shared, Harry hummed.

Unwilling to push his luck, Louis retreated to his side of the bed as they undressed. He tried bridling his straying gaze but lost the battle when he curled up. Harry remained standing for a moment, hugging himself. He only lay down when Louis had pulled back the duvet.

Soon Louis’ fingers winded in Harry’s soft curls. Harry’s head lay nestled in his neck, legs tangled underneath the sheets. Their breath mingled.

“Do you have anything tomorrow?” he asked.

Lax by his side, Harry mumbled into his neck. “I never work Mondays.”

“You should come along to Zayn’s modelling thingy tomorrow, keep me company. Considering you’re not doing anything and all.”

“Sure. Sounds like an interesting way to spend the day.”

Louis yawned. Harry giggled, the walls he put out unarmed in his exhaustion. Louis cracked a smile.

“Still tired?” Harry asked.

“Extremely. I wasn’t even the one driving but I’m knackered. I feel bad for Niall, he must be worse than me.”

Harry reached for the lamp. He pulled the cord and the room dissolved into darkness. Bodies intertwined, Louis let his mind wander. The _love_ word had been swirling around his head since the night he spent cuddled up in the tent with Harry. The thoughts were back stronger than ever. He was drunk off Harry; foggy.

Harry shifted in his arms. His leg slipped between Louis’, arms tightly wound around him. Harry didn’t have his guards up the same as before, and Louis’s heart beat wildly in his chest. This kind of uncensored attention from Harry made him hazy with feelings he longed to share.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an update to honour the birth of Harry Styles. We're almost 3/4 of the way through. This is the longest chapter yet with light angst and lots of fluff. Next week we pick up with more angst. Hope you enjoy! xx

Once more, Harry faced the daunting silence.

Not even the floorboards creaked as he, with his toes, scratched his calf. Whenever he proceeded his pacing his left sock furled a little further beneath his sole. For the last twenty minutes he had been toeing between the living room and the kitchen, waiting for anyone to join him.

He had woken on the edge of the bed, knuckles brushing the floor. Unable to find his clothes, he had grabbed the only sweater in sight and traipsed out in the flat. More than the burden of silence, he despised watching Louis slumbering soundly next to him, fingers curling into the mattress in search of his body.

Even so, heat twisted in his chest.

He returned to Louis’ bedroom where he remained in the doorway. Goosebumps had risen all over Louis’ skin in spite of the flat’s proper isolation. Harry couldn’t imagine how his own flat must feel.

A violent buzzing forced him out in the hallway.

Louis’ hand found the phone on his nightstand, fumbling to shut it off. He fell right back down in a mumble. Then he turned his face towards the empty space beside him and said, “Sorry, baby.”

Harry took a cautious step back inside, heart still racing.

“Why would you have an alarm?” he said.

Cracking one eye open, Louis spotted him in the gloom. He scowled.

“You don’t have one?”

Harry shook his head, staring at his coiled socks.

“No. I don’t sleep very well.”

Louis’ hand skimmed across the expanse of the mattress. The blinds drew back. He buried himself in a groan, fisting the sheets.

“Come on,” Harry said.

“No, you come on. There’s space here.” Louis emphasised by rubbing the other side of the bed as frantically as he could.

Wisps of hair poked from the duvet. Harry knew their softness—unwillingly imprinted like every other part of Louis—and he allowed himself to stroke them. He was rewarded with a whine.

“Give me a second,” he said and slipped out of the room.

Treading over scattered Scrabble letters and DVD-cases, he found the bathroom. Just as he switched the light on, someone else entered the room.

Zayn squinted at him, more in suspicion than in exhaustion, Harry presumed.

“What are you looking for?” Zayn said.

“Shaving cream.”

Zayn’s squint deepened and travelled to Harry’s hairless jaw.

“Sure you are.”

At the slight resistance, Harry’s heartbeat picked up. This shouldn’t be a problem.

“Why are you up?” he batted back.

Zayn peeped past him to the kitchen table where Scrabble stood, half-finished.

“Shaving cream.”

They stared at each other. Lilac circles framed Zayn’s eyes, which swept across Harry’s own. They made a silent agreement Harry didn’t know the details of, but it was enough to make Zayn retreat to his bedroom.

“They should be somewhere below the basin,” he said accompanied by a gesture before closing the door.

Making sure he was alone, Harry ducked down to the cabinet.

A bundle of condoms fell out when he moved aside some bottles of detergent. At least five different sorts lay in the mess. A few of them had been fastened together with a stale rubber band in a sacred collection. He went for one of the scattered ones, unable to recollect when he had last held one in his hands. Liam had never been much for them, with Harry or with other people.

He winced at the thought.

Louis hadn’t moved an inch. He returned his phone to the nightstand and flipped onto his back, arms braced over his head.

“You’re wearing my sweater,” he said.

Harry flipped the condom in his hand, debating whether to keep it or not. He crawled into bed, depositing the sweater somewhere on the floor. A narrow mirror hid behind Louis’ closet door and he knew Louis stared at the only visible sliver of it, at them. Hands warmer than the scrape of wool mapped out Harry’s spine.

“Good morning,” Louis said.

“Morning,” Harry said, ducking in for a kiss.

Head hanging, he let Louis’ lips wander over his mouth, his jaw and throat, and he glanced to the phone beside them, still unlocked. Messages holding a worried tone had been sent to Louis’ mum and to a row of people with his surname. Pictures Harry couldn’t see had been sent to Zayn and Anna. The most recent one had been sent to Niall.

_Thank you for meddling._

Both of Louis’ hands tangled in his strands and pulled his head back. Hazy blue eyes flickered over his face as the hands kept moving.

“God, I love your hair,” Louis said.

It was greasy. After not leaving his couch for a week and camping it had gotten worse than before. Harry wondered if his shower even worked anymore. Maybe he should have showered while in the bathroom, before trying to wake Louis again.

“I love it,” Louis repeated, easing his grip to stroke it instead.

“Do you still want to cut it?”

“I’d be privileged to. Not sure I can do it justice.”

Harry pulled the condom from the waistband of his underwear and dropped it next to them.

“I’m sure you can,” he breathed.

Louis stared at the rubber, eyes bright and pulse growing underneath Harry’s palm. A sober glint cut through his daze.

“You’re not trying to… We’re good, you know.”

“I know.”

“You don’t owe me—“

“I know.”

Knuckles running over Louis’ chin, Harry focused on the tickle of stubble. It had grown enough to leave behind a downy sensation instead of a pinch. He’d always had a penchant for the pinching, on his neck, his thighs, and so he kept caressing Louis’ chin. He let each hair slip across his fingers, trying to find greater pleasure in the new feeling.

He wondered how long it would take before he stopped comparing everyone to Liam.

“Don’t be so shy.” Lips brushed the shell of Harry’s ear. “It’s just me.”

“You’re the one tensing up,” Harry said just as he lowered himself fully onto Louis. He steadied himself with a hand to the mattress, relishing the twitching muscles below him.

Louis pulled him back under and teeth soon grazed his upper lip. Hands accompanied the motion and mapped out his back, settling on his ass, pressed their bodies together. He rutted against the bulge pressing to his thigh.

He couldn’t help a small chuckle when he murmured, “Want me to kiss you down there too?”

“Jesus, Harry. Do whatever you want. Anything.”

Louis was already squirming when Harry loosened him up. His legs hooked over Harry’s waist, clamping down.

“You’re tensing,” Harry said.

Louis laughed and slanted his head away.

“No one’s been up there in a while,” he said. Then he shook his head, curling his hand into Harry’s nape. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

It was difficult when Louis kept whimpering, heels bruising the bottom of Harry’s spine and quiet _fucks_ spilling from his mouth. He relented under the weight of tender kisses. One of them landed on the slim gash on his cheekbone, open-mouthed and wet. He shuddered, craned his neck and tugged down Harry’s underwear.

“I forgot how good this feels,” he murmured, jaw slack in pleasure.

Harry dropped his face into Louis’ neck, rolling their hips together, hard, eliciting a moan from deep in his throat. The sounds deafened his doubts.

They came apart in a mess of lube smears and muffled groans. Harry tried swallowing their noises, tried keeping the headboard from slamming, but failed spectacularly. Old bruises heated up as they moved together—slivers of bites and injuries. For once he didn’t reflect over what they were doing. He lost himself.

Afterwards Louis curled up below him, sticky and heaving, as Harry fell around him. Soft voices buzzed in the hall and it clinked of cutlery in the kitchen. When Harry glanced their way, he noticed the door being ajar.

Louis entangled them further in the sheets, latching onto Harry like a leach. A sleepy, grinning leach.

“Want to do this every morning?” he said.

Harry kept staring.

“Do you think they’re upset?”

“They have no right to be. Why shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves?” He thumbed through the pool of white in Harry’s bellybutton. “I enjoyed myself.”

A wave of arousal whirled back to Harry’s abdomen. He leaned over Louis and fished for his underwear on the floor. He nearly slid off the mattress.

“Your bed’s too small,” he said, yielding a small smile as he got up and dressed.

“I know.” Louis stretched in a yawn, arms braced above his head. “I’ll see if I can find a bigger one, yeah?”

Harry stood, legs trembling, and shifted. There was nothing for him to do in the flat. As far as he could hear, no one else had awoken, and if he exited he would face the vast abyss in the living room, pejorative and cackling. Maybe Zayn and Anna had slept through the sex.

He caught a glimpse of the bathroom farther down the hallway. Fluorescence flared from the gaping door, the floor still scattered in a handful of differently branded condoms and newly purchased bottles of lube.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “Get up.”

Louis held out his hand. Harry rolled his eyes, but pulled him from the bed. Louis melted into his chest with loose limbs, planting a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, breath tickling Harry’s ear.

“Shower,” Harry repeated.

“Right.”

Louis released him. Harry stumbled into the hallway, sex drunk. His legs weren’t working right quite yet. He touched his flushed cheeks, a hint of a smile on his lips.

The warm spray from the shower beat down on his back. He tilted his head down, hair falling in front of his face, water running down his face and chest. He sighed, at peace.

“Harry?”

He jumped. The bottle of shower gel slipped out of his hand and splattered over the slick tiles. Harry cursed. He could make Louis out through the thin layer of fog covering the shower door.

“You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Sorry.”

Louis poked his head through the door before Harry could stop him. Hot eyes trailed up and down Harry’s body. He found himself curving forward, cowering under the attention.

“You know, I could use a shower,” Louis said. “I could join you.”

“Or you could make breakfast. I’m starving.” Harry hoped Louis couldn’t hear the quiver in his voice.

“How about round two?” Louis’ fingers played with the hem of his t-shirt suggestively, eyes glinting in the dim bathroom.

Harry didn’t take the bait. He pushed Louis’ head out of the shower and closed the door, withheld air whooshing from his lungs in relief at the created isolation.

“ _Fine_. I’m going.”

Harry allowed himself to slump against the wall once the door shut, announcing Louis’ departure from the bathroom. He stayed under the spray long after he was clean, warming his bones. He pictured the way Louis’ face, contorted in pleasure earlier from what he had done, and shuddered. The scalding water bestowed him with clarity to cleanse his thoughts.

 Snatching a pair of sweats on a detour to Louis’ bedroom, he entered the kitchen clothed, much to everyone but Louis’ delight.

“Babe!” Louis exclaimed and swooped in with a bowl in hand. “Look what an exquisite meal I whipped up for you. Better get your energy back.”

Harry accepted the cereal. Several cornflakes stuck to the bottom of his spoon, already soggy.

“Ah,” Anna said from the coffee table, “What would you do without him?”

“Perish,” Louis answered. He busied himself with a batch of eggs, even went as far as grabbing pepper from the hood of the kitchen fan to season them.

Harry sat down with her, stirring milk and carton-flavoured berries. From the corner of his eye he could see Anna exaggerating a grimace upon examining the cereal. He didn’t mind. Any food that wasn’t adorned with rat faeces sufficed.

“I built this table,” she said and proudly patted the coffee table’s surface. “Well, Zayn helped. Louis didn’t.”

Harry looked over to the kitchen where the eggs hissed and popped as Louis had gone to wipe the greasy linoleum above the stove.

“He made me pizza once. It was good.”

“ _Once._ Harry, I’m telling you, your boyfriend is useless.”

Harry froze. He had been fine avoiding that term since he found the note on his microwave. The words came all at once.

“He’s not— We’re not together. I’m not his boyfriend.”

Anna’s eyes widened. “Of course, I shouldn’t have assumed. Of course.”

Zayn emerged from his bedroom, hair tousled worse than usual. In fear of whatever Anna had to say, Harry used the distraction to get up and deposit his bowl in the sink. It had been cleared of skillets and saucepans since last time.

Louis beamed at him while he lingered on the other side of the counter, fingers tapping and nerves strung taut. Realising that Anna had flicked on the telly, he headed back to the couch.

Zayn neared the stove for a whiff of the bubbly eggs and poked at the bite marks along Louis’ throat like an inquisitive child.

“We heard you,” he said.

Louis grinned. “Well, I hear you all the time. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Blocking Harry from the rest of the conversation, Zayn quieted down and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. In his knee-less jeans and bland tee, he could have been anyone on the streets outside, even one of the types lurking in the alleys around Harry’s flat.

Harry would never get used to this life—the reality where he was mistaken for someone’s partner and dined with Zayn Malik and friends. Soon enough he would hole up alone for days in his flat and complain to Baby about the broken pipes in the bathroom.

 

-

 

“How much would they have to pay you to wear that?” Anna nodded towards the papier maché inspired garments.

Zayn pondered. A disembodied voice presented them with the proper name of the collection but neither listened.

“I’d push the price to the limit without making myself too much of a snob,” he said, “And then I’d take you abroad with the profit. Maybe we could retire and move from London afterwards, given how filthily rich we’d be.”

“Good to know the industry hasn’t made you heartless just yet,” she said and they kissed.

Harry watched them. He lowered his gaze to Louis’ hand atop his, rolling circles between his thumb and index finger. Everyone behaved like they observed an everyday occurrence, which they probably did. Their faced remained flat even as the boldest creations wagged forth on the catwalk, conversing under their breath.

Harry couldn’t brush off the click of cameras like they could. For every set of legs parading past him, his heart jumped further up his throat. It didn’t help that they had been positioned on the second row, right behind Zayn’s billion dollar face. He didn’t have the courage to look around for other celebrities. He could barely keep himself from launching towards the toilets.

“Your friends at _The Sun_ are lurking in the back,” Anna said from the corner of her mouth.

Zayn crossed his legs swiftly, showing off the Burberry pants he was wearing. Louis mimicked him, eliciting a laugh from Harry.

“Maybe I should get back into modelling,” Louis said once the attention averted from them. “I think I have the ass for modelling jeans.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sleepless nights. Strict eating. Being papped everywhere you go.”

“You’re right. I’d rather stay out of the limelight, in bed with you, sleeping because I’ve no obligations.”

Harry’s cheeks heated. Louis’ arms slipped around his waist, pulling him close. Nose to nose, breath mingling, Harry allowed himself to smile. A kiss melted against his forehead, then lingered against his lips.

Louis’ pressed his palm to his cheek. Harry nuzzled his palm, eyes fluttering. Louis’ nose nudged his forehead.

“You could be a model,” he said. “You’ve got the legs. And the face.”

“Are you just trying to get in my pants?” Harry’s eyes glinted in amusement.

Louis feigned a gasp. “I’d never do such a thing.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right.”

Louis silenced him with a kiss, breathing him in, his fingers tangled in the soft hair at his nape. His teeth teased Harry’s sensitive bottom lip and he swallowed his moans.

“We’re in public,” Harry whispered. Their lips brushed as he spoke.

Louis’ hands settled on his waist. “So? That never stopped you before.”

Messing around in the back of pubs, not bothering to make sure the door locked behind them. Harry remembered seeing Louis’ tattoos for the first time and how his knees had weakened. He could still feel Louis’ breath encircling his throat in muffled dirty words, the sharp pinch of pineapple.

He shrugged, bridled his bouncing leg. “There could be paps though, trying to get pictures of Zayn.”

“Nervous?”

Harry hummed a response. Of course Louis wouldn’t have a problem with it, just like he himself didn’t have a problem with fooling around in public. He just couldn’t see the connection between sultry PDA and being broadcasted in all of England’s tabloids.

His head nestled into the crook of Louis’ neck. Fingertips dipped into the dimples at the bottom of his spine. He squirmed away from the tickling touch, but Louis just grinned and dug his fingers into his scrawny hips. Lax lips planted a kiss to Harry’s nose, warm breath ghosting his cheeks.

 Zayn ducked into the room from behind the curtains. His face was pale, eyes hollow. Harry noticed the change in him from the pictures Louis showed him from the early days of modelling and now. The underlying layer of hatred Zayn carried for modelling was obvious to him.

“How’d it go?” Anna asked.

Zayn shrugged. “It went all right. I get to be front cover of the next issue of Vogue, though.”

Anna’s arms linked around his neck in a hug. It was so easy for Zayn to lean into her and hug back, as if it were on instinct. Harry glanced at Louis, who tapped away on his phone. Louis presumed he was texting Niall due to the half amused smile on his face. Harry wondered if he’d ever let them to be close like that.

Zayn shrugged on his coat and held up his keys. “Ready to go?”

 Paps swarmed them when they exited the building. Harry froze, staring at the crowd of photographers around them, heart beating wildly in his chest. Louis’ fingers intertwined with his and squeezed. The gesture was meant to be soothing but did nothing to calm Harry’s erratic breathing.

Zayn’s arm wrapped protectively around Anna, shielding her from the blinding flashes. She hovered at his side, lips stretched over her teeth in a grin. She played the role of celebrity girlfriend well.

Harry settled into Zayn’s car. He pressed himself up against the window, the coolness of the glass providing relief to his hot, flushed cheeks. Louis eased in next to him and settled his hand on Harry’s thigh. His eyes were wild when they met Louis’.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Zayn twisted his key in the ignition and sped off, leaving the crowd of obnoxious paps behind. “I was not expecting that.”

“Can’t ever get used to it, huh?” Anna hummed.

“I think that’d be impossible,” Zayn agreed. “Or insane. Or both.”

With the two of them occupied, lost in their conversation, Harry pressed his face into Louis’ neck. Louis’ arms wrapped around him, holding him close in the spacious backseat of Zayn’s Audi. Fingers ran through Harry’s hair, massaged his scalp.

“Are you okay?” Louis asked, quiet, so that no one else would hear.

Harry shrugged. “A little shaken up, is all.”

His white knuckled grip on his pants and pale cheeks made Louis coo. He murmured sweetly to him as they approached the flat, but Harry wasn’t paying much attention. He was lost in his own head, thinking about the stories that would be in the paper the next day. This was not his lifestyle. This did not happen to him. He was out of place compared to everyone else and he knew it. He stuck out. He always had.

As they drew closer, Louis leaned into Harry’s side and said, “Yours or mine?”

Harry couldn’t bear the thought of spending another night at Louis’ place. He hadn’t seen Baby in days, much less had a second to breathe. He needed his own space, away from Zayn and Louis’ cheerful flat. He wanted to spend the night in the shithole he called home, cuddled with Baby on the mattress in the kitchen that bore water stains and mold and appliances that didn’t work.

“Mine,” he said. “You don’t mind, right? It’s just that I haven’t seen Baby in ages, and—”

Louis silenced him with a gentle kiss. He lingered a moment, long enough for Harry to really feel the softness of his lips on his.

“Is it okay if I stay over?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be okay.”

Harry meant it. He had gotten so used to Louis’ presence at night that he had forgotten what it felt like to sleep alone, without comforting arms to hold him as his chest rose and fell steadily.

“Can you drop me and Harry at his place?” Louis called up to Zayn. “We’re gonna spend the night, so you two can have all the loud sex you want.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “That joke will never get old for you, will it?”

“Considering your sex hasn’t gotten any quieter, I’ll say it won’t anytime soon,” Louis said.

They couldn’t have reached home soon enough. Harry bounded up the creaking stairs, keys clinking in the depths of his pockets. Louis fell behind.

Right when the door swung open, Baby sprung towards him. He gathered her in his arms, nuzzling her head as he brought her inside the flat again. Together they checked out the food she had been given his neighbour. He discovered a note on his fridge, something about maintenance he couldn’t be bothered to read, and a bag of food on the floor below.

By the time Louis caught up with him, he had fed Baby and changed clothes to something that hung off his frame like sheets.

“Need help with anything?” Louis asked as Harry paced, a cigarette trapped between his teeth.

Harry stopped and stared, as if he had forgotten that he had company.

“Just… I really need to smoke.”

He gestured towards the couch, pushing back some of the sprouting foam with his foot.

Louis sat down. Harry noted how stiff his back was and how it didn’t add up with his perky mien. Then he watched the foam bubble up again as he removed his foot and it clicked. He ran a hand through his hair, the stick in his mouth growing more irresistible by the second.

“There are some crosswords on the table,” Harry said with another gesture. “Telly’s broken.”

The balcony welcomed him. Fresh snow dusted the ground, lined the railing and chilled his bones when he rested his elbow against them. His lighter slipped into his hand, cool against his palm. He lit the cigarette dangling from his lips and sighed. 

The squeak of the sliding door caught his attention. Harry lit another cigarette, kept his gaze fixed on the streets below the balcony. Last minute Christmas shoppers flew by with big bags attached to their wrists. Taxi drivers honked their horns and spewed flurries of curse words as hordes of people crowded the intersection. Harry felt dead compared to the bustle of the streets.

Louis’ scent crowded his space. Harry leaned back into his warm chest, invited by the arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He couldn’t deny the feeling of safety that enveloped him, but he wasn’t sure what that meant. He didn’t say anything, and Louis honoured him by remaining silent.

Soft lips found their way to Harry’s neck. A lingering kiss was placed behind his ear, making him go numb. He sighed at the contact, head falling to the side, bearing his throat. Louis kissed his throat, tongue teasing his sensitive earlobe. A moan fell from Harry’s lips, whisked away by the wind.

His cigarette dangled between his lips. What felt like a lifeline before was no longer his only factor. Louis’ kisses made his head fuzzy in a good way, the numbness that he welcomed instead of fought to repress.

“You coming to bed?” Louis asked, lips playing against his smooth skin.

Harry shrugged.

“Come on, I’ll make it worth your while,” Louis pressed.

His hands slipped underneath Harry’s t-shirt, warm hands against his belly. Harry hummed.

“What do you have in mind?”

“There’s hot chocolate on the counter, warm blankets in the bedroom. I’m also offering up cuddles and my undivided attention.”

The smallest of smiles graced Harry’s lips. Louis kissed his cheek, nuzzled his nose against him.

“There’s the smile I love.”

“The sky is pretty,” Harry said. The sun was just starting to set, dusting the sky a mixture of oranges and yellows. Smoke billowed from Harry’s lips, drifting away into the darkening sky.

“So are you.” Louis tucked his face into his neck. Harry’s long curls distorted his vision, blurring his view of the night. “I could give you that haircut I promised you.”

Harry pursed his lips. “I guess so. It is in the way, isn’t it?”

Louis tugged on a ringlet, satisfied to see it snap back into place. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing with your hair. It’s springy.”

Harry turned, body aligned with Louis’. Louis swallowed.

“Are we going in?”

“Eager, are we?” Louis teased.

Harry reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers. Louis smiled at his boldness and squeezed his hand.

“Come on,” Harry said.

He led Louis inside the flat, into the kitchen. He plunked down on the mattress and the springs creaked, dust clouds erupting into the air. Harry coughed. Baby was curled up on the pillow and Harry touched her soft nose. She nudged his hand and let out a pitiful meow.

Louis settled down next to him on the mattress with a mug of hot chocolate and a pair of scissors. Harry touched the ringlets that hung just past his shoulders. It would be odd to see them gone, but he was tired of their weight, their maintenance.

“You’re not going to have any?” Harry asked, gesturing to the absence of a mug of steaming liquid in his hands.

Louis shook his head. “I had some while you were having a smoke.”

Harry’s lips played at the edge of his mug as Louis settled behind him. His fingers combed through his hair, untangling and undoing knots. Harry’s shoulders slumped forward in an attempt to grapple for his own space.

Louis’ lips met his forehead, gentle. His touches were everywhere. His fingers brushed the back of Harry’s neck, causing the downy hair to stand on end. Harry shivered.

“How much do you want off?” Louis asked. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s shoulder as he waited for him to respond. His head lolled to the side when Harry moved away.

“Maybe to the top of my shoulders,” Harry said. He touched the ends of his hair, then his collarbones, the hollow of his throat. He touched the dip between his shoulders and neck. “To here.”

Louis dropped a kiss to Harry’s cheek and picked up the scissors. Harry closed his eyes at the first initial snips, sinking into the mattress with the unpleasant creaks it made. The hot chocolate seeped into his tongue, leaving it red and stinging. His throat felt raw.

The camping trip felt like relief, a break from his awful flat and unpredictable life. But since returning home Harry felt as if there were a weight resting on his shoulders—on his happiness. Its familiarity frightened him more than anything.

Even now he couldn’t relax. The scraping of the metal blades drove him insane. He was about to comment on its maddening sound when Louis dropped the scissors to the mattress. He brushed his fingers through Harry’s hair to rid him of any loose stands and sat back to admire his work.

“All done,” he said. “Wanna see?”

“In the morning,” Harry said. He drew his knees to his chest and tucked his face into them. Louis paid no attention to how withdrawn he suddenly became. Blame the lassitude.

Louis took his mug from him before he could drop it. He folded up the towel with the clippings of Harry’s hair and took it to the garbage. Harry made a note to fish it out in the morning and wash it. He couldn’t afford going off and buying new towels.

Harry was curled in a ball on the edge of the mattress when Louis returned, nose pressed to Baby’s. Her steady breathing calmed him. Louis settled beside him, wrapped him up in his arms to keep him warm and safe. Harry didn’t indulge himself, stayed curled in on himself with his arms around Baby.

“You’re beautiful,” Louis whispered.

The darkness engulfed them, swallowed Louis’ compliments and almost made Harry believe them. But Liam had said that, too, and he knocked up some girl he cheated with. If he was so beautiful, how could he be so easy to replace?

Maybe he’d never stop comparing Louis to Liam. Maybe he’d never think of himself as anything more than what his dark thoughts told him. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! For once, the chapter is on time. How cool is that? We'd like to thank you for your patience during the past few weeks. We're doing our best to balance our lives and writing--sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. We hope this chapter will be worth the wait. Thank you so much for reading--you're wonderful and we appreciate it tons--and please leave feedback xx

The bags under Harry’s eyes had resumed their profoundly rotten state. He leaned sat at the counter with a mop propped next to him and a cup of steaming coffee. Despite the shot of espresso Niall had spiked it with, his eyes drooped.

A handful of costumers sat scattered in the café, occupying a handful of tables. Nick was nowhere to be found. He should have been on the floor, taking orders and making coffee, but his apron still hung on the hook. He hadn’t shown up at all.

Harry was about to question it when Niall smacked down a newspaper in front of him.  _Zayn Malik and Anna Cadwallader cozied up at Burberry fashion show_ stood written across the front page. Harry glanced between the pair to where he and Louis sat, hands entwined.

“Know anything about this?” Niall said with a cheeky grin on his face.

Harry flipped the paper over so the picture was out of sight and pushed it away.

Niall sobered up and laid a gentle hand on his arm. Harry withdrew.

“How are things?” Niall asked. “Is everything holding up?”

Harry stared, hoped his eyes weren’t too void.

“They’re okay.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” Niall said. “I’m here for you if you need someone. I care.”

“Thanks.” Harry forced himself to smile. It wasn’t very convincing, and he didn’t care, knowing that Niall didn’t have the guts to corner him.

“Louis really cares about you, you know,” Niall said.

Before Harry could muster up a half-assed response, the bell chimed. He wrote it off and ignored it. Nick, probably. As if on cue, Louis strong arms wrapped around him, engulfing him in a hug. Harry squeaked in surprise.

He caught Niall’s smile as Louis pulled him in for a kiss. They melted together, Harry’s hands grappling at the back of Louis’ shirt. Louis was more careful, cupping his face, pecking at his lips. Too intimate.

“Hi, baby,” Louis said once they parted. He remained in Harry’s space, noses nuzzling.

“Hi.” Harry ducked his head from every set of eyes in the room scorching his back.

Louis took a seat at the counter. He reached for Harry’s hand, but it remained balled up over the paper. Louis settled for stroking his fingertips along his wrist. Harry tried to ignore the goose bumps popping up on his skin.

“Don’t you have to work?” Harry asked.

“Not today. I came here to ask you a very important question,” Louis said. “And it cannot wait until tonight. It needs to be asked right away.”

Niall chuckled. Harry shot him a look that he hoped said,  _Fuck off and go make coffee, you’re interrupting._ Niall didn’t budge.

Harry focused on Louis. “Okay…”

“How about a date tonight?” Louis said. “At your place. I’ll make dinner and we’ll rent a dumb movie.”

“Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice. But my flat is a total mess. And my telly doesn’t work, remember?”

Louis waved his hand. “I’ll help you fix it up. We’ll do a complete repair job. Your TV will be able to play all the shitty movies we choose and your stove will even be in useable condition again. No more charred food.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “You have a lot of faith in your handyman skills.”

“I styled hair, remember? I’ve got good hands.”

“I know,” Harry deadpanned.

Niall groaned.

“When do you get off work?” Louis asked.

Harry glanced at Niall. “In an hour and a half?”

Niall sighed. “I’ll cover for you.”

Louis smiled. Harry ignored the way his stomach lurched at the way his face lit up. He didn’t want to think about what it meant.

“I’ll come over once I get all the tools I need,” Louis said. He turned to Niall. “Can you make me a latte? Caramel.”

“Get your boyfriend to do it,” Niall muttered. He reached for a cup anyway.

Everyone was using that term for them lately. Louis was unfazed by it, even happy. Harry pulled away from him, folded his hands and set them in his lap. Louis gave him a puzzled look.

Niall passed him his coffee. “Here. Now get out of here, Harry and I have work to do.”

Louis rolled his eyes. He pulled Harry in for another kiss, thumb dipped into where his dimple was. Harry hadn’t let him see it in days. He’d been in his own shell since Louis gave him a haircut. There wasn’t a moment to feel bad about it, either.

“I’ll be going now,” Louis said. The bell chimed again to announce his departure.

Niall leaned over the counter with his head propped on his fist.

“Like I said, he’s whipped.”

Harry snatched up the mop and returned to work. “Shut up.”

Nothing could stop the swirl of hatred in his gut—for couples passing on the street, for Liam’s continuous status updates, for the light of the café in the bitter winter, for himself.

Last night he had lain for hours smoking on the yellowing mattress, running his free hand over the gaps in the floorboards where he once smashed a wine bottle. Baby hadn’t neared him at any point during the night. He hadn’t even seen her. Whether or not that was because she hid away or because he was too caught up, he didn’t figure out. He ran out of cigarettes too soon.

One thing he had thought about was that he couldn’t remember the hospital stench. He knew what it was supposed to smell like, what it must have smelled like, but he could no longer relive the experience. Just like he couldn’t taste the distinct dryness in his throat anymore, the sterile kind. It must have been too long. Things had been well long enough.

Harry stared at his parched knuckles around the mop. Dropping it to the wall, he dived through the back doors and veered past hazardous rolling pins to the tiny mirror. Dusty as ever, he thumbed across it.

In the cleared stripe he saw the bandana tying his hair up. He ripped it off. Hair didn’t cascade down his shoulders anymore—it didn’t obscure his vision as much. He found himself pinching the severed ends and let them sweep over the blisters in his palms.

The door slid open. The mirror revealed it to be Niall, but Harry turned around nonetheless, bandana dangling in his clutch.

Niall was close to hugging the door.

“Nick’s out there,” he said.

Harry stared at the slopes of dyed blond hair. As he stared, he realised that where he had previously been able to feel apathy, memories had now taken over. He saw himself and Niall outside Louis’ flat when Zayn invited them in and he saw Niall wading towards the frozen lake.

He needed new friends.

“Got you some help, then,” he said finally. “Means I can go earlier.”

“Hold up, no, where are you heading?”

Harry was already in his coat. “You’ve got him here. No need to be over-staffed.”

“Louis won’t be over till… you know, later.”

“I’m aware. We’re not the same person.”

He could tell Niall had lost track of where the conversation was going, so with a nod, he left through the back door.

Harry took a detour to his flat. With every set of eyes lingering on him in the wet evening, his paranoia grew. Even paranoia, he decided, was better than facing responsibilities in his flat. Although trudging, he couldn’t stop moving.

He had probably spent his given hour and a half when he entered a corner store. Deserted, it offered him just enough time to slow down. He wandered the aisles, blowing heat on his hands. Packs of pills and condoms stacked the shelves together with a handful of diaper brands below. He plucked one of the cheapest alternatives to gawk at.

Sex didn’t do shit for him anymore. Fucking Louis was contradictory. Oblivion consumed Harry with each quiver and grunt, but then he would open his eyes and see Louis’ pleasure-stricken face just inches from his, or hear those breathy words or affection uttered for no one to hear. That fluttering feeling filled him with more dread each time.

Nick had been easier. Nick didn’t expect anything in return. Nick didn’t ask questions.

Harry didn’t want that, but it had been so long since he actually knew what he was doing—since he didn’t have to think about his actions. He wondered if Louis could look at him—really _look_ at him like he said he did—without feeling the slightest pinch of contempt. Harry doubted it.

On his way through the store he snatched a pack of snacks without looking. He unloaded on the counter—condoms and stale wheat squares. The cashier wouldn’t look him in the eye. Only once he had paid and could finally wrap his fingers around the cigarette pack did the man peer up.

“Wild night?” he blurted.

He was referring to the tabloids, stacked up to the ceiling.

Harry plucked a fag from the pack and poised it between his teeth. Then he lit it and walked out of the store.

 

❄

 

Louis crouched behind the disconnected telly, picking at wires with careful hands. His impressive tool collection (undoubtedly stolen from Anna) consumed the narrow strip of carpet in the living room. Early on he had forbid Harry from helping, and since drills and nails barbed the floor, Harry hadn’t been able to leave the couch.

Harry didn’t mind. Louis had brought tea in thermoses and so Harry could hole up under his moth-eaten blanket with a celebrity crossword and sip from them. None of the questions made sense, since the magazine was outdated. Harry ticked in the boxes with his own words.

“Baby, can you pass me that grey chord, the thicker one?” Louis asked, wiping non-existent sweat from his forehead.

Harry kept scribbling. “You talking to me or my cat?”

Louis actually scanned the room for the charcoal ball.

Harry tossed him the chord.

“After this I’ll do the stove,” Louis said as he ducked back in. “How did you eat before?”

It was an innocent question. Harry needed to provide an innocent answer.

“Take-out for days,” he said. “Dining with friends. Sometimes there’d be leftovers at Mary’s.”

The telly zapped on in a flicker of grey, followed by a loud cuss from Louis. No bars striped across the screen. Instead, a news anchor spoke about droughts, clad in a suit greyer than London. Louis fiddled with the wires before he settled on his haunches, giving a triumphant cackle.

“See? My magic hands and I can handle anything.”

Harry’s gut fluttered dangerously. Peering over the thermos, he watched as Louis dusted his hands off and strode towards him. A finger slanted his chin up and he met with Louis’ lidded eyes, too close.

“Thank you,” he said in a whisper, unable to muster strength.

Louis kissed him, humming. From the way Louis’ lips lingered on his, Harry could tell that he wanted more. Their noses brushed momentarily before Harry furled his lips and lifted the tea to his lips. Louis’ lips gently grazed his cheek in the withdrawal.

“I can’t wait to take you out,” Louis said, leaning on the couch. “Well, take you _in_. It’ll be even better if there aren’t severed cables all over.”

It had slipped Harry’s mind that they weren’t out yet. It’s not like it would be different from hanging out like they were now, although “hanging out” meant that Harry should go find some trousers to wear. “Being on a date” did not.

When Louis had swapped channels for ten minutes and proudly proclaiming his victory over technology, he dived headfirst into the kitchen and fought with the stove. Harry guzzled the last sips of tepid camomile tea and covered his naked legs with. He didn’t want to think about how he had turned every piece of furniture in the flat in search for Louis’ forgotten clothes. It terrified him how dependent he had become. He hated how much he gave of himself to Louis and how uncertain it was that whatever _this_ was would last.

Harry had cocooned himself upon Louis’ return. Glimpses of toes breached the blanket’s edge. Paint caked Louis’ face and Harry had to raise an eyebrow when he gestured with a paint roller.

“I fixed one of your cupboards,” he said.

Despite having exhaustion written all over his face, a defiant glow of victory gleamed in Louis’ features. He strode across the living room as if he had worn a crown.

“Do you have any ideas for shitty movies?” Harry asked.

“No, however I do have a more than decent movie. _A Fish Called Wanda?_ ”

Harry stared. “You don’t count that to your shitty-list?”

“Hey.” Louis dropped the tools back into their box. “Gives us more time to neck, doesn’t it?”

There it was again, the blaze in Harry’s chest that tore his insides apart. All Louis had to do was speak.

“Have you seen the pictures?” he said.

They stared at each other. Louis clued in fast enough.

“I’m… Zayn’s been blowing up my phone. He had no idea that it would be that bad. Believe it or not but he’s usually let off the hook if he wants to. I don’t know what happened, if we could have done anything to…” Louis paused. “Are you okay?”

Harry couldn’t answer.

Louis wiped paint from his brow. He only made it worse, smudging the rich lilac from his forehead down to his cheek. Harry chuckled. Louis stepped closer to him, paint roller raised.

“Something funny?” he teased.

He touched the roller to the tip of Harry’s nose, listening to him squeal in delight. Louis pinned him to the couch, swirling pale purple patterns across his cheeks. Harry’s hands cupped his cheeks, delving in for a kiss. The roller dropped out of Louis’ hands as they fisted Harry’s shirt, getting their clothes and skin messy with paint.

Soft, lingering kisses that made Harry’s heart ache fell upon his lips. Tongues grazed in the midst of it as Louis’ warm hands slid under Harry’s shirt. Fingers slid between his ribs like keys on a piano, barely touching. Harry moaned, back arching under Louis’ gentle touch.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open. They were barely kissing anymore, just holding each other, lips occasionally brushing. Louis’s breath lapped over Harry’s cheeks where he hung above him, the stag on his arm fleeting in focus as he tried keeping himself upright. He looked as if Harry were the most beautiful thing he could ever hold in his arms.

Harry closed his eyes and nuzzled closer. He never knew where to go, whether he could freely soak in the affection or if he was expected to withdraw.

Louis’ knuckles brushed against his cheek after they pulled apart. His expression was one of pure admiration. Harry stared back at him with a similar look. He even managed a smile. Louis’ dopey grin made it worth it.

“You’re beautiful when you smile,” he murmured.

Harry blushed. His stomach lurched, but in a good way. A way that made even the coldest parts of his core warm, though only momentarily.

“I should head home and get ready for our date,” Louis said.

Harry hummed his agreement. “I need to clean up. I have some shitty food to cook.”

Louis gave a soft smile and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t walk Louis to the door. Instead, he made his way to the bathroom for a shower. Louis had managed to fix the pipes, and the warm spray beaded down his back. It was almost painful, a pressure he wasn’t used to. He relished the feeling, washing away grime that the shower had never been able to take away before.

Lilac water swirled around the bottom of the tub before slipping down the drain. Harry washed away the caked on paint from his face and hair, finally feeling really clean. He was in a decent mood. He wondered if it would last the evening.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hair. Water droplets fell from his eyelashes when he blinked, skidding down his cheeks onto the floor. He tugged his nicest pair of jeans up his legs (they were still ratty, but they were the least ripped pair he owned) and slipped on a blue shirt Louis had complimented a few weeks ago.

An eerie sting of recognition pummelled into him. As he wandered out in the kitchen and sighted the groceries Zayn and Anna had dropped by with earlier, he understood why. Cider accompanied the minced meat on his sink, wrapped in a delicate tag on which Anna had scribbled a _Good luck :)_. It might as well have been a wine bottle, ready to be smashed on the floorboards. He had to skim his palm down the microwave to make sure things were different.

Unconvinced, Harry took out a dull knife and started chopping celery. Baby emerged and hopped on the table to observe. Keeping eye contact with her, he tucked a stained cloth into the hem of his jeans.

“Let’s go at it,” he said.

She lay down.

At Harry’s request, Louis had printed out a recipe and taped to the kitchen fan’s broken hood. After carrying it in his back pocket for hours, it had rumpled and suffered through multiple colour tests in the hardware store. Somehow it remained decipherable.

Harry read through the stains whilst turning the heat on, squirting oil into a pan. Given the wonders worked on his telly, he expected it to melt upon impact. It didn’t.

Frowning, he pressed a thumb into its middle. It hissed, flambéing his skin. A string of curses fell from his lips as he jammed the charred flesh below the running tap.

Louis had done a good job. Too good.

His phone jumped against wood somewhere in the flat. Baby rolled onto her back while he searched for it without moving away from the icy water. With a roll of his eyes he scrunched up the cloth and gravitated towards the sound.

_Unknown number._

It couldn’t be Liam, Harry quickly concluded—he had the number on speed dial still. It could be Louis, calling to check up. It didn’t make sense, but Harry found it a much better option than anything else at the moment.

The final tones rang out when he finally realised he ought to answer, eyes wide and locked on Baby. She didn’t seem bothered.

“Hello?” he said.

A rustling inhale breached the device.

He scowled. “Hello?”

This time, a woman’s voice spoke away from the speaker, her sentences lost to static. Soon, gritty words filled his ear.

_“Harry! Harry, hey. How… How are things holding up?”_

She snivelled, badly concealed, before proceeding without his permission.

_“We’re decent. I’ve… I’ve picked up knitting again—thought it’d be something useful for the future kids. G met someone, you know? A really great bloke. He’s been over a few times and she’s— Harry, she’s really happy. I wish you had been around to see it. She’s why I’m able to call, actually, because of that magazine. Well, the rest of us are holding up…”_

The woman paused before speaking with a tender tone, as if to herself. _“You’re alive. Oh, I’m so glad to hear your voice. I knew I was right—I knew you couldn’t be gone, but you have to understand, everyone went on and on about how you—“_

“Who the hell are you?”

She fell into stunned silence.

_“Harry, it’s mum. It’s Anne.”_

Splinters from the table broke under Harry’s nails. He bit the inside of his cheek with his thumb hovering over the _end call._

_“It’s just hard to believe that you’re alive. It’s been… Oh, it doesn’t matter. How are you?”_

He trembled, with thoughts too loud and his heartbeat too fast. Instead of stepping away from the train wreck, he dived straight into it.

“Everything is pretty much shit,” he said. “Thanks for asking, though. Got a bit of a stroke this winter.”

_“Do you… You have your own place now, right?”_

She didn’t listen. Five years on his own and she still refused to hear him, still refused to comprehend. His head ached with withheld tears.

“Oh yes,” he said, “Baby and I are having a blast, aren’t we? Home sweet home, mould everywhere and broken pipes and a fridge that spits out an ocean every night. But you know what?” His voice hitched. “I’m better off starving than I was with you. Everything here is ten times better than they were before. I’m fine.”

Pinching the burn on his forearm, he ran a hand through his hair, darted back and forth like he could flee from the crushing weight of the world. If Anne had spoken sooner, they wouldn’t have heard his echoing sobs.

When the crying transitioned into screams, Baby sprung from the table.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 4.4k, here's chapter fifteen! We're officially 3/4 through the story and the worst has yet to come. Thank you all for your patience during these past few weeks. Please let us know your thoughts about the chapter. Happy reading x

Cigarette butts littered the mattress. Harry had chain-smoked at least half a pack, but he didn’t feel the least bit calmer. The mattress was torn, fresh burn stains engrained into the fabric. Harry touched them, dipping a finger into a charred hole. When he removed his finger, it was black with ash.

His breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, preventing tears from falling before they turned into another round of sobs. Exhaustion overcame him, not yet strong enough to pull him under. He touched the hollow in his cheek, where Baby’s nose should have been, and stifled a cry. Her distance from him made everything worse. Out of all the things he’d done, he never wanted to be the one that scared her.

He tried to remember a time where his mother held him like that, but each memory that surfaced caused heartache instead of comfort. Picturing himself in her arms didn’t feel right. Thinking of it made him remember how selfish she was, how she was incapable of understanding what he was going through, what he was feeling. He had managed to suppress his family. Not thinking about them made it easier to forget how much it hurt. But since the phone call, they felt like gravel slowly being scraped out of a wound.

Filling his lungs to the brim, till each vein ripped apart, and exhaling in a wheeze, he flipped back onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The mildew stains were illuminated by the dim glow of the kitchen light. Harry focused on the patterns they created and felt his heartrate slowing to normal.

_Why would she care now?_

He finally felt calm when a call of his name jolted him back into reality.

“Harry?”

Louis loomed above him, concerned look deeply etched into his features. He was dressed in black slacks and a button up, making Harry hyperaware of his dishevelled state.

 _The date._ He’d never gotten around to lock the door. Once he remembered that, he became aware of the charred stench permeating the flat, the hissing and popping from the stove.

Louis switched it off.

Harry’s lip quivered. The twitch made him nauseous. He tried not to cry, but once the first shuddering sob left his lips he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Oh, baby.”

Louis spread his arms, a sympathetic look on his face. Harry despised it, but the urge to be held, to be comforted, for once overpowered the distaste. He picked himself up off the mattress and flung himself into Louis’ arms. They staggered back with the force of it and bumped into the stove.

Louis’ fingers found their way to Harry’s hair, twisting and stroking the ringlets in a desperate attempt to soothe him. They rocked back and forth in each other’s arms, Harry tucked under his chin. Louis shushed him, kept him pressed close. The warmth from Louis’ skin was comforting, but the wet material of Louis’ shirt scratched his face.

“Easy, baby. Easy,” Louis murmured. “I’ve got you. I won’t leave.”

Harry shuddered. His mind was a scary place to be in, especially now. He itched for a cigarette, but he knew Louis wouldn’t let him go until he could breathe steadily. All his hyperventilating had made him light-headed.

He cried until there were no more tears. He remained swaddled in Louis’ arms until his hiccupping breathing regulated.

Fresh cologne crept over him and as he peered down he noticed the polish on Louis’ shoes. The only soothing part about Louis’ demeanour was his ruffled hair.

“Come here,” Louis said.

Guiding Harry towards the couch, he kicked at some cigarette butts with his toes. He made sure to once again check the stove.

Harry almost wanted to spill the guts about his hospital visit, that the circumstances then were similar to now, that he’d hoped to stay asleep and never wake up.

Louis tried to catch his gaze.

“Want to relax? Can I do anything?”

_Too many questions._

“I’m gonna,” Harry said, wincing at the bumpiness of his own voice.

Louis put a hand on his knee. There hadn’t been time to get dressed, either.

“Can I take care of you?”

Harry had to close his eyes.

Why hadn’t Louis left? Why hadn’t he just turned in the doorway upon seeing the smoke and scruffy state of everything?

Harry ducked his head, mouth twitching as if to speak. He found his hand on Louis’ neck, trembling lips passing over redolent skin while the hand on his knee clenched, just barely. The chill atmosphere cooled his scorching face when he planted a kiss on Louis’ shoulder.

“Let me take care of you,” Louis said, sure of himself this time.

Harry nodded, reluctant to release his grip. Another wave of self-loathing bereaved him of breath. He disguised the gasp in a shaky cough, hoping Louis wouldn’t baby him.

Hands pressed into his spine and lay him down amidst pillow foam. Cold kisses snuck up his jaw, floating over his broad neckline. Each time they were like this, Harry had less resistance to put up. He feared what would happen if he gave in. But giving in would be _so easy._

Louis struggled to contain a disapproving grunt when Harry pushed a lit cigarette between his teeth. In return he steered Harry’s legs over his shoulders. The cigarette slipped farther between Harry’s fingers as the kisses moved to his thighs and the edge of his underwear. Louis peered up and pushed aside the fabric.

“I know you don’t want to talk, so just nod if you’re fine,” he said.

Harry’s head fell down. He didn’t know whether to cry or moan. A mix of both fell from his mouth.

“Nod?”

The single stripes of colour in the flat coalesced with the grey when Harry couldn’t focus on one item. Despite his prickling skin he was burning up, new tears obfuscating his thoughts. His knuckles were pallid in Louis’ hair.

He nodded.

Hail—first tapping, then battering—shook the windows, reminding them of a world outside the living room. Harry still had trouble shutting Louis out. There wasn’t any stubble to prick his skin. Quiet licks drummed in his ears and made the world hazy.

Foam from the gaping couch welled between Harry’s fingers as they screwed farther into the seat. His breaths hitched in a breathless mix of anger and want. He bit down on the cigarette before tearing it from his mouth.

A sudden cold washed over him. Unable to open his eyes, he prayed that Louis hadn’t walked out, that there wouldn’t be a note to read.

Cotton fabric tickled his legs as Louis moved up to his head. Louis leaned down, grazing their lips, but withdrew.

“Nod,” he breathed.

Hooking a leg around his back, Harry drew Louis down for a kiss. Spots of heat popped all over Harry’s body. He’d never been this clumsy before. His leg kept skidding down Louis’ back and his hands were everywhere, grappling and pushing. Nothing was still inside of him.

He never wanted to stop kissing Louis. In that moment, with Louis’ body placid to his, he couldn’t imagine something after this. It had been too long since he woke up in someone’s arms and wanted to stay. He wanted this. He wanted to stay.

Tingles ran through his lips when Louis chuckled. Harry forced himself to look. The cigarette was plucked from his fingers and put out against the already charred edge of the table. He met with Louis’ parted lips. Whatever Louis was about to say disappeared with Harry’s muffled words, pressed to his mouth. Fingers dug into the other’s cheeks and neck with entire valleys of shadows falling over their skin in the sullen evening.

Boneless, Harry let Louis hoist up his legs again. The toxic smoke had fled him and left him with only Louis’ wet tongue and firm hands steadying him.

The back of Louis’ shirt scrunched when Harry’s toes curled into it with a stifled moan.

“Louis…”

The name continued spilling as his toes unfurled and Louis swept a palm across his damp chest, each time more certain than previous. His arms wired around Louis’ neck when strong arms lifted him from the couch. The last _‘Louis’_ ended in a hum and a brush of lips.

“Nod?” Louis said.

Harry smiled.

Layer after layer with blankets waited for them on the kitchen mattress. Louis undressed as well and cocooned them, saying that they didn’t to have a fancy dinner – or dinner at all – for it to officially be a date. Harry was tired of postponing, so the offer wasn’t hard to accept.

They’d lain in each other’s arms long enough for Harry to sink into slumber when Louis breached the subject.

“What happened after I’d gone?”

Harry stared at the stag on his shoulder. It stared back with blank eyes, inducing false depth with the matted ink.

“I took a shower, since that’s a thing now,” he said, mentally tracing the curve of Louis’ mouth as it twitched in amusement. “I started on dinner, used that recipe you printed.”

Louis carded a hand through his hair in reassurance. Harry swallowed, touched his palm to the stag as if to cover its unseeing eyes.

“Then my mum called.”

His pulse quickened but Louis remained still. Safe.

“She hasn’t… We haven’t talked for, well, a while.”

“How long’s ‘a while’?”

“Five years.”

No reaction other than the hand sweeping down his naked back. It carved out every knot in his spine and urged him on at his pace—brushing over little childhood scars, visible unlike the one flurrying in his head.

“Suppose that call wasn’t about the weather,” Louis said.

“I ran away, what did you expect?”

In Louis’ eyes, Harry could see the pieces fitting together magically. Yet he stayed.

“Why?” he said.

“I wasn’t… She couldn’t handle it, or something. When I got diagnosed. So she didn’t.” The words came faster. “Just seemed pointless to stay, after that. I figured I shouldn’t have to put up with it either if she didn’t, so I just took Baby and left. Guess I shouldn’t have taken her, considering where she ended up and all, but I was seventeen. No one thinks straight when they’re seventeen.”

The hand in his hair slowed.

“She rings me up ‘cause she’s seen me in that tabloid, and she goes on about how she’s been _worried_. Then she checks my flat. Five years and she wants to know what kind of wallpaper I’ve got. She keeps talking over me, and when I mention my stroke she just asks about the damned wallpaper. She doesn’t—“

He cut himself off when Louis touched the burn mark on his forearm. Somewhere in the pieces puzzling together, Harry glimpsed a mismatch. There were pieces Louis glued together on his own, without care for their actual shape.

“Harry,” he said, just the way he’d said it that night in the pub stalls, “Are you suicidal?”

Nausea crowded Harry’s throat. Everything he had put off since Louis came back welled over him. The arms around him were too constricting. He couldn’t breathe under the weight of fabric on fabric. He couldn’t look at Louis.

A jarring groan fell from his mouth as he tried to get off the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, crawling out of the cocoon to reach him.

Harry scrambled for his underwear but stopped when he spotted Baby peeking out behind the couch. Louis caught up with him. Hot arms winded around his waist and Louis’ head pressed into the bottom of his spine.

“Come back, I’m sorry,” Louis said. “Please stay.”

His slow breaths lapped at Harry’s skin.

_Please stay._

Chills ran down Harry’s spine. How many times hadn’t he told Liam the same thing? After another round, Harry would be more exhausted than before and Liam would slip out with an immaculate smile, as if he was unaware of the other life where he was about to become a father.

“Harry—“

“Louis, stop.”

Harry pinched the burn where the skin had become pleated and brown and stared ahead. The broken clock on the living room wall made a haunting ticking. Baby hopped to the back of the couch, her tail whipping against the wooden box.

Louis didn’t move. His breaths remained small and scorching against Harry’s flesh.

“Please.”

 

❄

 

An abundance of tinsel rested in Harry’s hands. The stool supporting his weight shook as he stepped onto its edge, trying to fasten the glitter around the curtain pole. Only a handful of customers were still in, sipping their tea and skimming through the paper, but they all ogled him.

“Looking good,” Niall said from the other side of the room, as if the support was needed. “Little more to the right.”

Harry dumped the tinsel in a heap on the prickly red curtain. He stepped down and yanked the stool up as he headed behind the counter.

“I can fix that up,” Niall said.

Harry wanted to say that it was already fixed, that Niall needn’t do shit, but just as he looked towards the tinsel it slipped right down into a cup of coffee. The customer gasped as the brown liquid soaked her scarf.

“No prying here,” Niall said and gently handed over his cloth to Harry, ”But did something happen?”

Large eyes followed Harry’s motions as he seized a glass and began rubbing rather than wiping it.

“What made you think that?”

“You haven’t been this way since Liam left.”

The cloth got caught in a stripe of jagged edge on the rim. Instead of trying to push it through, Harry dropped everything on the counter. Niall took the glass from his hands.

What was he supposed to answer? They both knew he’d been this way multiple times, during and after Liam. Niall was reaching out a hand Harry didn’t know how to take.

“Did you meet Louis?” he asked, head bowed to the counter, eyes fixed on the pinkish apron sagging from his frame.

Niall didn’t answer.

Harry picked himself up, brushed away his fringe. The tiny bell above the door rang and Nick slowed his steps by the counter. Bruises still mulled his jaw and his cheekbone sported a nasty gash, tinted in auburn. Harry couldn’t remember if Louis still carried battle scars.

“Morning,” Nick said, sidling around the counter and freed himself of his winter gear.

“It’s way past noon,” Niall said.

“Noon, then.” Nick scratched his neck.

Harry plucked a forgotten mortar from the counter, one he’d used to crush cloves in before Niall demanded further decoration of the shop. He moved towards the kitchen with a firm grip of the pestle.

Nick grasped his shoulder.

“Come?” he asked.

Behind the kitchen doors, Harry found stillness. His whole being has been bustling since yesterday and he’d been unable to shake the warmth of Louis’ arms around him, the whispered words. Here he inhaled burnt sugar and yeast. The tips of his fingers brushed over the bumpy measuring spoons and the specks of rust at the handles. And for a moment, he felt serene.

Nick went to wash his hands.

“Still going strong, yeah? You and Louis?”

Harry had thought the last person to ever willingly bring up Louis Tomlinson in conversation was Nick. As always, the universe proved him wrong.

When he remained quiet, Nick dried his hands and turned towards him.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question made warmth push through the static cloud of loathing in Harry’s chest.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay.” There wasn’t any malice in his words like Harry had expected. “I want you to be happy. Honestly.”

Harry bit his knuckles. “But you still hate him, right?”

“Hate’s a strong word, innit?”

The doors barged open unceremoniously. One lock of hair dangled in Zayn’s forehead. Niall stood behind him, wide-eyed. Zayn’s eyes narrowed on Nick but softened as they landed on Harry.

Harry took one look at him and realised that he knew. Zayn definitely knew.

“What’s up?” Zayn asked.

Without a glance back, Harry guided Zayn and him out the doors to a table.

“You’re not fucking around again, right?” Zayn said before they’d even sat down. “Look, I’m not here to meddle. I don’t meddle. I believe you’re capable of being your person and making your own decisions.”

“You’d be the first,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well, let’s just say I know the feeling.”

Their gazes met. Neither wanted to delve further. Instead, Zayn’s eyes drifted down to Harry’s throat where small love bites bloomed as usual.

“Got some pretty bites there.”

Harry’s hand went to adjust his collar, but he stopped himself. _Louis._

Zayn shook his head with a snort of recognition. “You’re hopeless.”

“I need something to get Louis for his birthday,” Harry said.

“ _Shit._ ” The table skidded across the floor as Zayn stood, fumbling for his phone. He checked the calendar. “That’s, like, next week.” He glanced up at Harry. “I know when his birthday is, I just didn’t realise it was so soon. I’m a good friend. This winter has been hell, is all.”

Harry couldn’t argue against that.

Zayn raked a hand through his slick hair, sinking back onto his seat with the coat billowing around him. A crown might as well have sat atop his head when he leaned forward in secrecy and droplets of snow glimmered in his hair, portraying him like the royal he was.

“For gifts, just give him a kiss,” Zayn proposed, his palms open in a gesture.

Harry stared.

“Two kisses. Really nice ones. _And_ a hug.”

“Thanks for the help.”

Zayn pushed himself back from the table and stood. His spine popped as he straightened his back. 

“Anytime.” He gave a thumbs up. “If you want to get adventurous, you could throw in dinner and a blowjob.”

Harry hid his blush in the sleeve of his hoodie. “Don’t you have some modelling gig to go to?”

Zayn laughed. “Lucky for you, yes. I’m just leaving. Take care, all right? Of Louis, too.”

Harry nodded. He waited until Zayn disappeared from the café to slip his cigarettes into his hand. The half empty box from earlier on inflicted pain, but he brushed it off. He couldn’t think about the argument right now. He decided it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t stop a small twinge of guilt from nagging him. What was Louis doing to him?

He didn’t notice that Niall had followed him out until the man lowered himself down beside Harry on the staircase. The end of his flour-caked apron flapped in the breeze. The snow had mostly cleared, but the cold air remained. 

Harry glanced over at Niall, cigarette hanging from his teeth. He offered the pack to Niall, who shook his head. 

“I don’t smoke,” he said. 

Harry nodded. He knew that, but sometimes he felt awkward being the only smoker at the café. He briefly wondered about smoke breaks with Zayn if he worked there, chatting about their lives. And Louis. They inevitably always spoke about Louis. 

“I heard you talking about Christmas presents,” Niall said, breaking the silence that had settled over them. “Do you have any plans?”

“Nothing in particular.” Harry shrugged. “Probably dinner with Louis, Anna, and Zayn. I obviously won’t be spending Christmas with Liam this year. He’s got his girlfriend now.”

Niall winced. “Does that make you angry?”

“No,” Harry lied. 

Thinking about Liam and being cheated on made his blood boil with not just anger, but sadness. He was so isolated, and Liam never cared. Now he had his pregnant girlfriend and a new life. He tried to pretend that it didn’t sting, but it was hard to ignore how replaceable that made him feel. If Liam, someone who claimed to love him, could do that to him, couldn’t Louis do the same?

Sensing his discomfort, Niall changed the subject. 

“I’m spending Christmas in my flat, watching Christmas movies and eating whatever the hell I can find,” he said. 

Harry frowned. “You’re celebrating alone? I thought you would have gone back to Ireland for the holidays.”

Niall shook his head. “I don’t talk to my family anymore. We’re not that close, but that’s all right. It’s become a tradition to watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in snowflake pyjamas and read a good novel.”

“Why don’t you do all that at Louis’ place?” Harry suggested. “Come over for dinner. Bring your movie and your book.”

“Really?” Niall’s eyes widened comically. 

“Really,” Harry replied. “You shouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone.”

Niall grinned, teeth on display. 

“I was thinking of going for a slice of pizza after work,” he said. “You should come.”

Harry hesitated. He hated to waste his money on things he didn’t need, but Niall looked so hopeful. He didn’t want to disappoint him. 

“All right,” he said. He checked the time on his phone. “Our shift is almost over, we could go now. Nick can cover for us.”

“I almost feel sorry for him. We always leave him in charge when we run out early.” Niall chuckled to himself. “It’s a miracle he hasn’t burned the place down.”

Harry hummed in agreement. He took a final drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt off the railing. Niall cringed. 

“I hate when smokers do that,” he said. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll throw it out next time.”

They both knew he wouldn’t. 

Harry hung their aprons on the beaten up rack. He stood awkwardly by the door as Niall spoke to Nick, watching the loved up couple sitting to his left. He considered their level of PDA with Louis for a brief moment and shuddered. He needed to clear his head. 

Niall returned happily and reached for his coat. 

“Nick’s gonna cover for us. Let’s head out,” he said. 

They walked through the snowy streets, silently trudging. Harry was thankful that their silence wasn’t awkward. He liked that with Niall, he never needed to say anything. Niall talked enough for the both of them. 

They ordered pizza from a small shop near the café. Harry sat at one of the tables as Niall ordered, letting the result of his meal be a surprise. After five years with his stove, he welcomed anything. 

“We should go to the park,” Niall said once they stepped outside. Orange grease seeped through his pizza bag and Harry grimaced. “I know a spot by the lake where we can sit.”

“Sure, as long as my ass doesn’t freeze,” Harry said. 

Niall laughed. “Come on.”

Winding back paths led them to rusted benches on the lake front. Niall settled on one and stretched his legs out on the frozen path, letting out a sigh. Harry lowered himself beside him, pants damp from the thin layer of snow covering the bench. 

“This place reminds me of my brother,” Niall said. He waved the pizza slice around as he spoke. His subconscious habits made Harry’s heart warm ever so slightly. “Back when we were kids we’d go to the park every day during the summer. We played for hours. I remember us being completely sunburnt for all of July.”

Harry tried to smile. “He sounds like a good brother.”

“He was,” Niall replied sadly. “He’s in jail, you know. That’s why I moved here, to get away from it. We lived in a really small town. Everyone knew everyone. I was tired of being a criminal’s brother, you get me?”

Harry looked at him,  _really_ looked at him. He understood now. Niall’s need to do the right thing, to impress, to please. Behind his happy demeanour, Harry could see Niall’s beat eyes. 

“I get it,” he said. “No one went to jail, but my family was kinda shitty, too. I was pretty much invisible my entire life. I don’t think my mum could handle my diagnosis, and my sister never liked me much.”

Despite himself, Niall smiled at him, though it was empty. He leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, and for once, Harry allowed him too. 

“Guess we both got a little fucked up by our families,” Niall said. 

“Guess so.” Harry licked his lips. Chapped, peeling skin stuck to his tongue. 

“We’ll be alright,” Niall murmured. 

Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. He rested his cheek against Niall’s head and stared out at the lake. Snuggling with his friend and munching on decent pizza, Harry tried to find peace. For once, letting go didn’t feel like a task. 

 

❄

 

Harry returned to his flat after dusk. Baby greeted him at the door, brushing against his leg. Harry scratched behind her ears, too tired to spend time giving her the belly rub he knew she wanted. 

He didn’t make it past the doorway. Louis slept soundly on his couch, one arm tossed over his forehead, snores escaping his lips with heavy breaths. The soft glow of the telly flickered over his face, gleaming over his cheekbones. Harry almost smiled, but he stopped himself. How the hell did Louis get in? He’d probably forgotten to lock the door. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Carefully so not to wake him, Harry turned off the telly and tiptoed into the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so aware of someone else. With Liam, he would have woken him up to fuck, then they’d go their separate ways and meet up in a few more days. With Louis, he easily let him sleep. They didn’t need to fuck. There was comfort knowing Louis would be there when he woke up. 

Harry dumped his cigs and lighter in their usual place in the kitchen drawer. He poured himself a glass of water and set it down on the floor beside the mattress. His clothes joined them until he was in nothing but his underwear and his thin cotton shirt. 

He collapsed onto his mattress with his phone, tucking himself in ratty blankets. Baby curled up next to his head, mewling softly. She licked his cheek, and Harry returned her affection with a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Do you think mum really cares, Baby?” he asked, more to himself than the cat. 

She blinked at him. 

“Me too. Me too,” he murmured. He unlocked his phone, flicking through the contacts. “Maybe we should see if she’s serious. About me. What do you think?”

Baby nuzzled his cheek. Bleary eyed, Harry dialled the number before he could change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is all about Christmas preparations (and Harry trying to find Louis a good present, which doesn't go quite as expected). We hope you'll tune in when it's up!
> 
> PS. We're alive and chapter sixteen is coming along, after a lot of life obligations! (19/4/16)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologise sincerely for the delay. There's a lot going on in this chapter as we're nearing the finale with only four (!) chapters left. Please leave kudos and comment your thoughts, it's greatly appreciated x

Liam was in Harry’s every feed. Pictures of him and his wife-to-be swarmed Twitter and Instagram. One was of him babysitting his niece with a heart-filled caption, where acquaintances had commented their good lucks and wishes of future welfare, how they were a match made in heaven.

No one remembered Harry’s existence.

Baby nudged cigarette butts off the kitchen table with an idle paw. Harry looked to the couch where Louis’ arm spilled over the seat. He recognised the violet half-moons beneath Louis’ eyes.

With his phone and Liam’s smile discarded somewhere in the stained sheets, he snuck out in the living room where clothes hung over the back of the couch. While he dressed he watched Louis’ ribcage rise and lower and eyes flicker below twitching eyelids. Everything was peaceful when they didn’t have to talk.

Harry’s socks caught in slivers of abrasive wood as he made his way back to the kitchen. In the cupboards he found broccoli, ham, and bread that wasn’t outdated. He couldn’t imagine anyone who’d want ham and broccoli for breakfast, but he chopped it up and hoped the lack of butter wouldn’t be noticeable.

Louis peered up at him when he put down the plates. Unlike Harry, he didn’t have a blanket, and he shivered as he propped his chin up on the armrest.

“T’was the only thing that didn’t have webs of mould on it,” Harry said, gesturing towards the broccoli.

Louis sighed. “You have a beautiful voice.”

Baby jumped up on his hip, clawing through his clothes before curling up between his curved body and the couch. He scratched below her chin. His eyes flickered to Harry’s burn mark.

They ate in silence. Harry thought about how he’d have to ask Zayn about Louis staying the night. Zayn had texted him in the wee hours of the morning, saying that Anna and he were arranging an early birthday party for Louis to compensate for forgetting, even if the birthday boy himself didn’t know.

Harry could relate to the levels of guilt, but that meant he’d have to buy something today. He wouldn’t have time to think or save up enough to buy a proper gift. Maybe he should just go along with Zayn’s blowjob suggestion.

“It’s good,” Louis said, holding his bread up with a strained smile.

“I called my mum.”

It was sudden, like it always was when Harry decided to open up.

Louis dusted off his fingers and said, after a while, “Oh?”

“She couldn’t be honest about why I left, couldn’t admit it to herself. So I told her to go to hell, basically,” Harry said, like Louis knew the whole story, like he knew exactly what growing up had been like.

“Has she called since?” Louis asked.

Harry contemplated telling him that their conversation had gone nowhere. It’d given him even more validation to leaving five years ago and solidified his reasons for staying away.

“No,” Harry finally said.

Louis got off the couch and started pacing, grabbing his face. His frustration radiated off him to Harry, coming off in every grapple at his hair and pinch to his cheeks.

Glancing to Baby who watched them through lidded eyes, Harry turned back to Louis, eyebrows knotted. “Why is this even a problem for you?”

“Because you’re a great person, Harry, who keeps making fucked-up choices,” Louis cried, spinning to face him, “And it’s frustrating because you see yourself through some broken looking glass and don’t let anyone help you put together the pieces! You had a  _stroke_ , and you never told me _._ ”

“I hadn’t met you then. I didn’t think it’d be important.” Harry could feel himself building his walls back up, and it surprised him how easy it was. He liked to believe it’d hurt less. Acid coated the tip of his tongue.

“It was a fucking stroke. Of course it’s important.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t tell me  _anything_.”

“Why have you never brought up  _your_  family? I don’t know shit about what you’ve gone through other than what those photo albums reveal, and that seems pretty fucking peachy to me.”

Louis didn’t answer.

“I know nothing about you because you keep pushing me away!”

“I  _did_  open up and then you thought I wanted to kill myself.”

“Don’t you?”

Harry stared, heart flaring in his chest. He waited for the sting of tears to come, but this wasn’t unexpected. He’d been waiting for this since first kissing Louis. It had been too urgent. He couldn’t remember the taste.

“I’m trying, can you fucking see that? It’s easy for you with your sunshine bullshit and second-hand celebrity life. I’m more than this, just like you’re more than your love for fucking Donny Rovers. I know who I am.”

 Louis took a step back, fists clenched. “Okay, yeah, that’s great for you. But it doesn’t make me any less worried about you.”

“I’m not fucking suicidal,” Harry snapped.

“Then why did you leave? You should have stayed. Each time I take a step forward you backtrack twice as much.”

 “You don’t understand.” Harry looked away. He didn’t feel as heated as before, anger replaced with an inevitable void, but he didn’t know how to stop.

Louis sensed it.

“You cheated on me,” he whispered.

“It’s not like we were exclusive.”

Plummeting into Louis’ once easy eyes, he grasped for strings of malevolence like the ones Liam’s would carry; they would assure him that he wasn’t out of his depth. He felt like a kid, all bruised knees and chipped teeth.

“I’ll leave,” Louis said, as if asking permission one last time. When Harry didn’t stop him, he nodded. “I’m leaving.”

“Hope work goes well,” Harry said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He wanted desperately to bite his cheek and shut up, but he couldn’t. He was too far gone.

Louis glared at him.

“Go to hell,” he said, and slammed the door behind him.

Rushed steps echoed in the stairwell. Aftershocks ran through Harry and he had to blink to see if he was fooling himself. Louis was still gone when he opened his eyes. The longer he waited, the more daunting the realisation became.

Louis wasn’t coming back.

When Harry shook his cigarette pack, a final cigarette rolled out and slipped through the floorboards. He cried out in frustration and let the pack hit the wall.

Baby’s eyes followed the lighter meticulously as he swept it before him. Flames danced in his irises.

“Relax,” he said, voice flat, “He didn’t leave anything to burn.”

Then his eyes landed on the sweater tossed over his couch and the sting of tears finally came. Hot in hand, he brought it to his nose. It still held faint traces of pineapple—a cologne Harry hadn’t smelled on Louis for ages.

He wasn’t going to burn this one.

Leaving the lost cigarette to its fate, he pushed all windows open and let the cold in. Any little isolation he previously had was shattered in a wall of traffic. Drawing the hoodie tight, he watched the street life just a couple of feet below, searching for Louis’ figure pressing through the masses. Umbrellas started unfolding as a snowy drizzle sailed in and obscured his chase. The city gobbled Louis up.

While usually meowing incessantly for a chance to amble the windowsill, Baby remained hunched in the middle of the living room, her eyes two golden saucers in the gloom. Harry turned to look at her fiddling with his ripped cigarette pack. Slivers of hail hammered his cheek and fingers curled on the windowsill. He thought about the searing burn mark and how Louis’ palm skimmed across it in a late attempt to soothe the pain. His voice had been so lenient, as if he gave himself up.

_Please stay._

Harry jammed his fist into the murky wood so that chips of it tumbled onto the street. An unlucky pedestrian gave him the middle finger. It was hard to notice it when he could still hear the slam of the door as Louis left.

The scent of pineapples faded as he gave himself to the rampant weather and splinters caught under his nails. He sealed himself inside again and stepped from the rain-patterned glass.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, he fired off a quick text to Zayn.

_Can I come over and help decorate?_

_That’d be great_ , Zayn replied.

Harry stared to the ceiling and sighed. Maybe Louis’ flat was the last place he should go to, but he would lose it if he spent another night staring at these penitent walls.

He tucked his phone and wallet, though it only held a few bills, into the ripped pockets of his jeans. With the sleeves of Louis’ sweater brushing over his fingertips he pet Baby with the promise that he would bring home a tin of gourmet food, then ventured down the stairwell into the streets.

Louis wouldn’t want to be found, but Harry still saw him in every restaurant and thrift shop. His skinny limbs erupted with goose bumps, chattering teeth causing an ache in his jaw. Still, he didn’t go back for a coat.

Anna welcomed him in with open arms, beaming. She paused when she noticed his sweater and took a moment to raise her eyebrows.

“Isn’t that Louis’?” She asked.

Harry glanced down at the red knit he wore. It had completely slipped his mind.

“Appears to be,” he said. “Uh, do you know when he’ll get here?”

“Hopefully not for ages!” Zayn called from the living room. “This party will be grand so I hope he doesn’t ruin it for himself.”

Harry smiled tightly.

Anna chuckled. “Someone’s getting love-sick.”

She placed a party hat on top of his messy hair and snapped the pale strap against his chin. Harry grunted and backed away from her, rubbing the thin, red welt with his knuckles.

“You look proper festive now,” she said.

“Thanks,” Harry replied dryly.

“At least let him get in the house first, Anna,” Zayn said while sneaking up behind her. She yelped.

Harry cracked a small smile. This is what he needed, distractions from friends. Niall was lively to be around, but he was too interested in his relationship to be his first choice in company.

Nothing but a couple of baby blue garlands adorned the stripped walls. The couch and coffee table had been turned and pushed to the wall, baring the floor where an extensive shopping list lay. Two thirds of the listed items had been crossed out.

Anna put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think we should have chosen some more colourful shades? I doubt he would want even more winter, given how the past few weeks have been.”

“Shit.” Zayn paused to examine the barren mess. “I’m a horrible friend. A horrible, _horrible,_ friend, and roommate. Can’t I just blow him?”

“Want to walk me through all this?” Harry said while slowly making his way through the room.

Zayn ricocheted off the floor.

“One of my mates has a massive sound system, which I’m planning on putting here,” he said and gestured towards an imaginary square by the balcony door. “We’ll have bowls of fruit and crisps and I’ll bring out some extra folding chairs in here and out on the balcony with an ashtray or two. We still need to vacuum and buy the last of this—“ He lifted the shopping list, “But we’re right on track, given the tight time plan.”

 “I’ll get the props,” Anna said with a nod and walked into the narrow closet down the corridor.

Zayn lit up. When he continued sharing the layout, all gestures and curses over forgotten aspects, Harry wasn’t listening.

Harry stared after her into the corridor and the shard of Louis’ bedroom he could see past the ajar door. He knew he was pressing salt to open wounds, like he always was, and like always, he couldn’t stop the thoughts.

Maybe it was for the best. They could still be mates. They would find other people to fuck and pose with on Instagram—other people to stay up all night with and be faithful to. Harry could still come by and smoke with Zayn and they would talk like Louis wasn’t inside watching a TV-series his boyfriend got him hooked on.

Harry would invite the household over to his renovated flat and after a couple of cheap beers Louis would share stories from his latest adventure—Harry was positive that he’d start travelling again—while his boyfriend chimed in with over exaggerated anecdotes that had everyone chipping for breath.

It didn’t have to end up like a Liam situation. It wouldn’t.

And still, after convincing himself of all these things, he stared towards the slanted couch and coffee table by which they’d eaten charred pizza and played Monopoly, and he stared along the corridor to the room where he had woken up with Louis wrapped around him, and he thought about how miserable life would be without it.

_You fucked up._

He nodded.

_You fucked up. You fucked up. You fucked up._

He twisted his hands into an unnatural state in order to keep from shaking when asking, “Do you have whiskey or anything? Really stale juice?”

_Arsenic?_

Zayn stilled in his monologue, hands frozen in an absurd motion.

“It’s just past noon,” he said.

Harry gave a wry smile. “Right, yeah. Just thought about the party.”

“Shit,” Zayn said again, then turned towards the corridor and shouted, “Honey, do we want him to get shit-faced or just midnight giddy?”

Anna exited with another box of ornaments and mementos in her arms.

“Perhaps we leave that decision to Harry.”

Harry glanced at the framed pictures of Louis as a toddler in the box, the string of drool down his chin.

“How many will get here?” he asked.

“I have _actually_ planned this bit.” It came from Zayn, who accepted the props from his girlfriend and began unpacking. “Most of his mates live up north still, or they’re our mutual ones from the modelling business—which includes some photographers and editors—but something _had_ to work out for me so I’ve rounded up at least seven people that will definitely be here. Then there’s the question if they spread the rumour and who of the other invitees can make it.”

“Then I’d say a lot of alcohol.”

Zayn jotted it down on the shopping list.

Anna eyed Harry with folded arms, her gaze mild without yielding pity.

“You’ll be here, right? Not working any extra shifts tonight?”

The images flickered before Harry’s eyes again: Louis, the two of them intertwined in the same sleeping bag, or curled up on his ratty mattress as locks of his hair drifted to the chipped floorboards, or Louis peering up at him over a cup of smoking hot coffee.

“I’ll be here.” The slam of the door rang clear like a shot in his head. It had felt so definitive that leaving now would be madness. He said, “I’ll be here.”

Anna spun with birthday ribbon in her hands, winding the patterned string around the coffee table.

“Good,” she said. “Wouldn’t be the same without you, you know.”

Harry forced a tight smile. Right then, he felt the farthest from needed he could be. What would his presence do? He was a bore at parties. He sat in the corner on the sofa during the one Nick invited him to over a year ago, drinking alcohol and smoking and trying to forget that he felt like utter shit and didn’t want to be there. He was sure he’d do the same this time. If there was any hope for his, whatever it was, with Louis, he was sure it’d be ruined with his lack of socializing.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Do you mind running to the store to grab drinks for tonight?” Zayn said. “My wallet is on the kitchen counter if you need money.”

Harry froze for a second. Did Louis talk about his lack of money? Surely that was how Zayn knew.

“I should be okay. Thanks, though. I’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks, Harry!” Anna called. She perched on a ladder, hanging streamers from the ceiling. They ranged from lemon to lime—anything but blue.

“Can I borrow a pack?” Harry said, turning to Zayn while making a gesture like he was smoking.

Zayn pushed himself off the floor with the shopping list dangling between his fingers. Tucking a pack into Harry’s pocket, Zayn leaned in as if to hug him, and murmured, “Take it easy.” When he backed away, handing over his lighter with a mild smile, he said, “And you should probably take my coat. Just do it.”

Harry didn’t have it in him to protest. With the list in hand he dived out in the downtown wilderness, mapping out where the nearest liquor store lay.

Hail thrummed on the rooftops. Half of the Londoners wrapped themselves up in black for the occasion and a few lucky souls had been sharp enough to stay indoors. Their sunken faces hung over the streets from doorways and thick windows. Some stood together; others bathed in the sleepless crackle from their tellies.

The red wool around Harry’s chest broke through the murky hoard. Zayn’s coat didn’t have a hood, so he kept tossing back slick strands while avoiding the wall of people who were all intent on crushing him beneath their black boots. Nothing reminded him of Louis anymore.

He ended up on unknown streets. Scraggly fingers wound tight around the list. Its delicate letters smeared when he held it to a lamppost and the downfall threatened to tear it from his grasp. The pocket of his coat accepted the note when he marched forward, vision blurring as life faded from the pavements. He was sure there weren’t any liquor stores in this part of town.

Nothing but his figure loomed along the hidden nooks of the block, listening to the screeching of wheels and bottles breaking in the distance in a cocktail of manic laughter. No rats skipped over his feet in warning. No tenants stuck their heads out to shout at him.

The headlights approached rapidly. The screeching amplified. Harry’s shoes imitated the wheels, skidding along the treacherous asphalt until the light blazed into every crevice of the darkness and took him with it.

Someone screamed. The wheels silenced.

Harry forced a hand to his skull, expecting to feel the hail hammer him down. The motion caused a howl to erupt in his head. He kept pushing in vain and his breathing tightened up.

Then he felt the hail—and everything else.

Slits tarnished the expensive coat, as if pinning him to the asphalt through brittle flesh. Something in his lower body had melted and dribbled down the well next to him—as if his limbs floated apart with the runnels.

Harsh words spun into the air. Not from him, but from a man booming out of the vehicle, and flecks of moving neon cut through the crystallised world when the man raised his hands. Rain pushed the neon under and burked her voice. The man kept shouting.

It occurred to Harry in a thunder of pain, that he ought to listen in, that he ought to escape the susurration of traffic in another block and climb from the shell he was hostage in by the foot of a car.

As he broke free, he was hollering. Mindless blabber that he could tell was only a low pluck in his throat as neither of the couple minded him. The neon attire swept along the woman’s hunched figure, her palm nearly cut open where it clutched the car door. Her hysterics had the man composed. Everything was still, for a moment, before he sunk next to Harry’s head. His voice was devoid of its usual cool supremacy and now raged like the ocean, had Harry been a makeshift raft.

“Of course it’s you.”

Then he turned back to the woman, yelling at her to get in the car, and Harry didn’t want to listen anymore. He crawled back into the shell where the slush glistened.

Strong arms hoisted him up. A tiny squeak came from his mouth when he dangled, bent backwards, limbs disassociating. Beyond the veil of winter, he smelled something painfully familiar. Rustic like wood, the heat from a fireplace, bits of fresh logs and pine. And something mordantly bitter and modern.

Harry was deposited in the back seat, hair slick and tucked behind his ears. The doors shut and the man got in front, damp hands slipping on the steering wheel. A perky tune crackled from the radio whilst the wipers travelled over the windshield, baring the murder scene drowning in headlights. Even the woman was quiet—her breaths nothing but deflated promises.

Then they drove.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! We appreciate all of you who have read this far and promise that we'll try to update these last three chapters as quickly as possible (the original schedule was one update biweekly on Saturdays, so we're trying to resume that). There's a lot of dialogue in this chapter, as well as angst, and it's one we're both proud to have written, which makes it that much more exciting to share. We hope you have a great day and enjoy this chapter x

Models and agents lumped together on the stools by the kitchen counter, conversing about everything but career opportunities. Some would hook their arms around Louis and kindle a memory about a modelling session in an abandoned industry area, and that club they got wasted at, and how Louis had been the most sober one in the party despite tripping between the walls of an alley on the way to a hotel. Others brought him to the side and inquired if he was okay being in a polyamorous relationship, given how that pierced girl was snogging Zayn.

Louis was tipsy. During a lull in the upbeat mood, a load of his childhood friends from Doncaster had been allowed into the flat, after being upheld in the hallway by Zayn for surprise, some of which Louis hadn’t seen in years. All of them had bought gifts. He let himself be shoved into the couch and swathed by them, unpacking under the observance of his guests, who kept whispering to him and to each other.

_“I thought you were going to buy the kettle?”_

_“It reminded me of that time in Melbourne, when we’d been on the beach all week and you couldn’t wash the sand off…”_

_“Open mine first! It’s something all of us can enjoy as well.”_

Sat upon a mountain of presents, Louis overlooked the flourishing conversations between people he knew as well as the back of his hand but who weren’t familiar with each other.

Zayn joined him on the side-lines with an uncapped beer twirling in his hands. He was laughing at a joke Louis hadn’t heard.

“My mum hasn’t called,” Louis said.

“She would call today? This early?”

“Yeah, they’re… They’re going up north for Christmas. No connection up there.”

Zayn sipped from the bottle. Bangles garnished his arm, made of the strings holding the wrapped gifts in place. Some of it spilled from his hair.

“They haven’t dropped you off the family radar,” he said.

“How can you say that for certain?”

“I can’t. But who wouldn’t want you for a son, for a brother?”

“Zayn, I was gone for so long. I don’t think they owe me a ‘happy birthday’. Surely you wouldn’t have just welcomed me home if it’d been you.”

Zayn nudged him, gauging the foam coasting in his beer with an illegible glint. “I’d make you sleep on the couch…”

“There you go.”

“… But I’d also cook for you and force you to play Scrabble with me. A few years doesn’t change the fact that you’re her son. You were young and now you’re… You’re still young, but now you’ve gained experience. Most choices are easier made in hindsight. At the time it wasn’t as easy, with all the temptations obscuring what should have been important. Although, I am a _very_ handsome and persuasive man, so it may fall on my lot as well—that I strung you further into the business.”

Louis watched Niall, who was by the bowls of crisps, pinching a piece and bringing it to his mouth idly. Niall had refrained from drinking, claiming that he had a last-minute exam the day after. During post-sex and early morning conversations with Harry before work, Louis had been told that Niall was free for the rest of the year—the rare times Harry talked for the sake of filling silence without thinking his words were of weight. Louis wouldn’t be the one to participate in peer pressure, so he cracked open a soda and handed it over.

When their gazes met, Louis gave a small wave, as if to say that he would go over there soon. Then he listened to Zayn finishing off the beer and smearing its condensation on his ripped jeans.

“I just have a hard time believing she would reject you if you showed up on her doorstep and talked things out. Fear of rejection will ruin you.”

Louis thought about Harry. He skimmed the crowd. Two of his mates from Doncaster—Matilda and Amelia—were tying up each other in garlands.

“She’s not your mum, though, so…”

“Don’t talk to me about shitty parents as if there was something I didn’t already know.”

Louis nodded to himself.

“She’s gotten to know me through tabloids,” he said, then snatched an opened bottle from the counter, thumbing the rim. “What a pity party this is. I’m being ungrateful, aren’t I? You two are too good to me, even if I put up with your rabbit sex, and now that you’ve done this and managed to get all these people here—my _old mates_ , Jesus—I just complain and wallow in angst.”

Zayn visibly exhaled.

“It wasn’t just us,” he said and seized the moment to remove all alcohol in their vicinity. “Harry came by.”

“When?”

“A few hours back. He listened to me fuss about the layout but Anna and I had forgotten to buy some things so we sent him off. He was wearing your sweater. If it helps I let him borrow my coat. Wouldn’t want him freezing to death.”

“So he hasn’t come back? Did he say he’d be back?”

“He better be, because then we’ll be able to offer these amazing tarts Anna found online, and I also wrote some fairy lights on the shopping list.”

A clique of models had cracked open the balcony door and held a conference in thick cigarette smoke. With a twinge in his throat, Louis pressed his knuckles to the taut fabric of his bar stool, running down to the chill steel and tasted the hearty cashews and sour cream filling up the room.

“Louis,” Zayn said, his voice low, “Something’s up. He wasn’t— Well, you know what he’s like, but he was being proper odd. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this way.” He held his hands up. “I’m not meddling.”

“Please meddle,” Louis mumbled. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I thought you two were on Cloud Nine.”

Louis wanted to smile at the skew picture, but he just looked miserable. “You know I told him to stick it today? And that I slammed the door on my way out? I don’t think I’m meant to understand him, or figure him out in any way, but I’m… I’m helpless. I’m so gone for him.” He swallowed. “How can I know that he’s not with Nick?”

“He’s not.” Zayn examined him, placing a hand on his back. “Don’t lose hope, yeah? He’ll be here. Cliché as it sounds, I know what’s he’s like when you’re not around. He’s fucking heart-eyed. You know he is. He wouldn’t miss your pre-birthday.”

Zayn stood, sweeping two bottles of water off the counter, the plastic hot. Dragging Louis out of his seat, they slumped down in centre, surrounded by rambunctious discussion and the sweet tickle of herbs. The crowd rejoiced at the sight of the birthday boy. Louis let his shoulders be rubbed and urged to try exotic foods and beverages his guests had brought—perks of knowing Zayn Malik, he reckoned—and soon he was grinning and passing around the drinks, Harry now a dull ache in his head.

“Louis!” Amelia shouted.

She pulled him in by his hand, a glass of wine in the other, and twirled herself around. Louis danced with her, grinning from ear to ear. Even with time that had passed, he recognised the way her coal hair shifted under the lights and how her chestnut eyes hinted overwhelming joy.

He spun her again, laughing loudly as she almost spilled her drink. The alcohol buzzing through his veins made each sway of hips to the beat of the music easier.

Louis’ phone vibrated in his pocket, a shrill ringtone breaking through the foggy haze in his mind. He hated the sound.

When he didn’t go to answer it, Amelia reached into his pocket for it. If he hadn’t been drunk, he would have slapped her hand away, but he was too out of it to care.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Unknown number,” Amelia said. “Do you want me to answer it?”

“Give it here,” Louis said, a slight slur to his words. When the phone was pressed into his hand, he lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”

His heart sank the longer he listened to the person on the other end speak. His palms became clammy and his pulse quickened as he took in the ambiguous information. When she hung up, he felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

“Everything alright?” Amelia asked.

Louis pushed past her. He pushed past everyone and into the winding corridor. “I need to go.”

He rummaged through clothes on the floor of Zayn’s bedroom until he realized he wasn’t in his own. He was too panicky to care, and threw on one of Zayn’s jackets. When he reached the front door, Zayn was waiting for him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Is everything okay? Amelia said someone called, and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I—Harry. I need to go.” Louis shoved past him and out into the frigid air. He didn’t realize until his feet touched the snow that he’d only slipped on a flimsy pair of sneakers instead of boots.

Traffic was scarce this time of night. Louis was thankful. He was sure he would have broken speed limits if there had been tons of people on the road.

He hated the smell of hospitals. The scent of all the chemicals mixed together made his head pound. He didn’t like the environment either. Stress, worry, and sickness enveloped him in a cocktail of doubt.

Louis brushed the snow off his coat as he waited for the receptionist to find Harry’s room number. It seemed to take hours instead of minutes, and by the time she read it to him, his heart was beating far too quickly to be healthy.

His heart jumped to his throat when he entered Harry’s room. He lay miserably on the sterile sheets, bandages and bruises littering his body. He turned his head and blinked at Louis, didn’t say a word.

Louis almost covered his mouth.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hey.” Harry forced a smile, clearly pained. He nodded towards the plastic chair to his right. Louis took the hint and sunk down on it.

Louis reached for his hand and pressed kisses to his fingertips. In that moment he didn’t care about their argument, about how much caring for Harry hurt. Seeing him swaddled in bandages and covered in cuts made the tension ease just for a brief moment.

“Who did this to you?” Louis demanded, breaking their silence.

Harry shook his head.

“Harry, I’m serious. I know you didn’t do this to yourself. I know that,” Louis said. He squeezed his hand harder. “I care,” he continued. “You know that I care. You can tell me. We’ll fix this.”

Harry only looked away. “You can’t fix it.”

Louis knew they weren’t talking about his injuries anymore. He recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“I can try,” he insisted.

He had to try.

Harry briefly glanced at him before he averted his gaze. He didn’t offer any words, and Louis fell silent with stinging rejection. Eventually, he dropped Harry’s hand.

Two nurses joined them, one of which took an interest in Louis whereas the shorter one with the round ruddy cheeks checked Harry’s values and began small-talk. From what Louis could hear, the injuries weren’t severe. Louis’ nurse examined him over the rim of her battered journal. He barely noticed, stuck on eying the needles and wires and tubes running in and out of his man.

“Sir,” she said after a long assessed stare, with chapped lips bearing remains of various moisturisers, “He will make it. But we need to check him and then he has to rest. I have to ask you to leave.”

Bruises in all imaginable shapes and sizes, in rows and dotted patterns, a whole geometric spectrum of pain, all over Harry’s ghostly skin. Harry, who could just move his head to look at the ruddy-cheeked nurse adjusting his wires without wincing. Louis had to choose to believe that Harry would get out, despite the sticky curls atop his head, which had licked coagulated blood to his cheekbone.

The nurse stepped into his view, appalled.

“Sir, are you high?”

He was, wasn’t he? And he must have looked worse than half the patients there.

“Sir, if you want to see a doctor we must advice you to the reception.”

He left the room.

 

❄

 

The drapes were drawn in Harry’s windows.

They were the only thing Louis felt at peace with in the hospital; a full nuance of green, the exhausted kind you would see in grass at the end of summer, just how Harry’s eyes would be in the morning. Now they were the only thing separating Louis from a relaxed mind

On his third trip down the hall in pursuit of sparkling water from a malfunctioning machine, he met what must have been the only other living soul in the building. The man had taken the machine for his own gain, banging and sliding his damp palms down the plastic. His broad shoulders trembled.

Louis tucked away the loose change in his hand and approached, making sure to walk heavier than necessary so that the man wouldn’t be startled.

“Do you need cash?” he asked.

The man surfaced. Once they were face to face, he patted down his hair—short, slick with sweat—but didn’t bother wiping his handprints from the glass. He shook his head.

“My wife’s in labour,” he said. “Do you have kids?”

Louis had to laugh.

“No—I’m sorry—no, I don’t have kids.”

The man stroked his beard—Louis burked another chuckle—and pointed to Louis’ irate eyes.

“Are you high?”

“Yeah.” An inconvenient sniff. “Yeah, a little. I’m—My flatmates arranged a pre-birthday for me. What’s a man supposed to do?”

“So why do you look like…”

Louis willed his feet to stop taking nervous steps back and forth.

“My boyfriend got into an accident. He’ll be fine, though, apparently. They said he would.” Furrows dug into the man’s forehead, ones Louis couldn’t help but frown at. He’d seen the same scepticism in the faces of his peers and the ones of right-wing extremists in debates on the telly.

“You’re not…”

“Hell no, I swing every way.”

The guy smiled, an errant and neurotic grimace, as if he had been stranded on an island and forced to gnaw on his own leg, and Louis was the person finding his message in a bottle.

Louis sighed.

“I have several younger sisters,” he said while the man scratched his disorderly beard and his desperate eyes drilled into the bottle of coke dipping over the edge, “And I might not have seen them all being born, but I was there for the oldest. It was pretty sudden, and before I knew it I helped loading pre-packed rucksacks into the backseat and held her purse and dealt with her phone calls to loved ones as she drove. It was frantic, but it usually is that way, right?”

He took a pause to see if his audience was still with him. The man’s eyes were distant but his ears perked. Louis continued.

“She screamed a lot, naturally, and I thought she was going to bleed out. But a few hours later I had a little sister, and mum wasn’t screaming anymore. There hadn’t been any complications, despite my wild imaginations. And we went home and I helped painting the nursery and feeding her and felt like a proper grown-up. And before I knew it, another one was on the way.”

“Yeah, I’m just…” The man crossed his arms and leaned on the machine. “It’s the whole ‘am I ready to a father’ dilemma. I hadn’t thought too much about the complications of the actual birth. We were in a rush to get here. Like you said…” He swept his hand through the air before him. “It was sudden.”

Louis apologised. He said, “I don’t anyone is _ready_ for something like this. Even when you’ve got a nine month head start. And hey, the kid won’t know you’re doing anything wrong until it’s a few years old, by which you’ll have had time to sort yourself out.”

The man said, “Hope you and your boyfriend can go home soon. He will probably get out before I do.”

Louis handed him a few coins, just for the sake of it. Maybe he really wanted that tipping bottle of coke. Then he ventured back up the hallway a fourth time and called Anna.

_“Anna here. It’s me, not someone nicking my phone, thanks. How are you feeling?”_

“He’s all right,” Louis said, swallowed. He stared at the dim fullness of the curtains. Biting at a hangnail, he carried on along the corridor.

_“You’re talking about Harry?”_

“Mmh, yeah. I’m at the hospital. Before you can—Don’t say anything, ‘cause the injuries aren’t life-threatening. That’s what the nurses said, that he’ll be out and about soon. He was well enough to talk to me.”

_“Was this why he was off today…? Did he plan it?”_

Louis bit back tears he didn’t feel were coming. “No. No, Anna, I promise. I’m patrolling his corridor here. Nothing will happen to either of us.”

The line rustled with an exhaled praise to God and he heard Zayn murmuring in the background. Music thrummed below a layer of exhilarated shouts

 _“Louis, sit down,”_ she said.

He found two chairs next to a table of plastic tulips and fishing magazines.

 _“So he’s not too shabby,”_ she said, and Louis could tell she had been fed the sentence from Zayn, who probably had his ear pressed to her cheek as they spoke. He closed his eyes and let the exhaustion come over him.

“I think it was a hit-and-run accident—car accident. What else could it have been? Gangs? A patch of ice on the asphalt? The weather was awful, if he’d just stayed…” He silenced himself before Anna could. “Harry will probably wake up soon. Then I can ask him. No use in speculating like this out here.”

_“Wise choice for a wise guy.”_

He tore off a string from his trousers and smiled. “How are my guests?”

_“Still here. Your social circle is one of a kind, Lou. You and Zayn’s. We’re calling taxis for most of them now, and then we have some who are staying over. Niall’s one of them—if you want to know the nit grit you have to ask him, he’s pretty much sober. You won’t be home tonight, right?”_

No, he wouldn’t be.

_“We won’t be able to come over now, or tonight. I just saw a suspicious car outside the flat. But first thing in the morning we’ll sneak away to you. And we’ll have fresh clothes and a toothbrush.”_

Paparazzi. Louis rolled his eyes and had a hard time looking straight ahead afterwards. It surprised him that they weren’t already swarming the hospital wings.

“No worries,” he said. “It’s better if you stay where you are. We’ll be fine here.” He rubbed his eyes, listening to voices down the corridor he hadn’t heard before. “I love you. I need to check if they’ll let me in now. I have to see him.”

_“We’ll be over as soon as we can. Tell him we checked in. I love you.”_

The same shade of white coloured the walls and ceiling and floor. Here and there a speckle of life would show, in the plastic flowers or dull curtains, so Louis had to follow the signs rather than his own sense of direction. Time ceased to exist within hospitals, surely. It would bend backwards and spiral forward and tie in endings with beginnings and make it seem like a trick of fate.

Louis didn’t want to think about time. He tried not to wonder what the weather was like now or how his flat looked. It was a wonder he had made it through the night without rest, especially now that his high had left him a wretched shell.

The curtains had been parted when Louis rounded the corner. The voices came from within, one stout and the other unmistakeably beaten—Harry’s.

Louis hurried his steps.

The words became clearer.

“I thought the stroke would be enough. I know you liked it rough, but this… What are you doing?”

Harry droned something in reply.

“You’re so stupid. You jeopardised her life, you know? Both of them. And mine. But you just had to fuck that up as well. Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t I been through enough?” The other person clicked their tongue. “At least you’re not wearing my sweater anymore. You looked proper pathetic in it the last time we were here.”

Louis only heard a pain-struck inhale. They resembled the wheezes Harry had blown into his chest after receiving the phone call from his mum.

“You know why this happens to you? You know why I’m not surprised it’s _you_ in this bed? Because you’re suffocating. Just because you feel like shit doesn’t mean you have to drag the rest of us down. I’ve yet to meet a more selfish person, Harry.”

Louis reached the room and lunged straight in.

“What the fuck are you saying to him?” he demanded.

Beside Harry’s bed was the man from the waiting room, the one with the wife in labour. His erratic expression had morphed into clean spite. Apparently he wasn’t as kind as Louis’ thought.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man whirled around.

“Who am I? I’m Harry’s fucking boyfriend,” Louis spat.

The man snorted. “Good luck, he’s a mind fuck. I used to date him, so I’d know. Couldn’t do anything by himself but when you asked if he needed anything, he’d just make it seem like you were the bad guy for asking. He’s gonna make your life hell.”

Harry choked on a sob. He had tangled himself up in the tubes and wires, his casted arm squashed beneath him. Louis glanced at him and then back at Liam, eyes blazing. Liam just dug his eyes into Harry’s bruises and spun on his heels, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

“ _That’s_ your ex-boyfriend?” Louis asked.

Harry flinched at his tone and didn’t offer a response. He couldn’t speak through his tears.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Louis said, words dripping malice.

He left Harry on the hospital bed, shaking with sobs, in search of the man. Louis found him a few metres from the room, like he was waiting.

“I thought you loved him.” Louis shook his head. “How could you hurt someone like that? Someone you loved.”

“Is that what he said? He said I loved him?” The laugh he let out chilled Louis’ core. “I never loved him. He was just a good fuck. You’d know, right?”

Louis threw the first punch. He had the man pinned to the ground before he could react, drilling his fists into his chest and face.

“Take that back!” he shouted. “Don’t you dare speak about him that way!”

A fist struck his eye, then his lip, before Louis nailed the final one to the man’s throat. He pushed himself up before he could be struck again, wiping the blood from his face.

As if they had been skulking about the floors in anticipation of a fight like this, five nurses welled into the hall, locking Louis’ arms and begging them both to stop, that they were _in a hospital for Christ’s sake_.

“I hope you fucking rot in hell,” Louis spat when he broke free.

He spun on his heels before the man had a chance to stand and returned to Harry’s room. He didn’t bother wiping the blood that had started flowing again. He almost thought of it as proof of his affection, his commitment. He wanted Harry to see.

The ruddy-cheeked nurse was there and saw him leave. For a moment their gazes locked. He tried to blink away the red in his eyes, lap up the blood on his broken lip. She just glanced towards the door and the grassy curtains and returned to the man, still doubled over. Louis smiled when thinking that he’d gotten in a few good hits.

Harry had stopped crying by the time he entered, but the sight of him caused his eyes to glint with fresh tears. Louis hushed him and crawled into the bed beside him. He didn’t ask if it was all right, but Harry curled into his arms and stayed there, almost on instinct, so Louis didn’t pull away.

“You keep coming back,” Harry whispered.

Louis tightened his grip on him. “Because you keep running away.”

Careful of his bruised limbs, Louis tucked Harry into his arms. His fingers gently winded in the soft ringlets at the nape of his neck, soothingly tugging.

“His name is Liam,” Harry offered quietly.

Louis hushed him. “Tell me in the morning, you need your rest.”

Harry didn’t protest. He fell lax in Louis’ battered arms, breathing slowing and eyes drooping with the soft hum of Louis’ breath and the gentle stroking of his fingers through his hair. He nuzzled his head against Louis’ neck as he settled, finally, finally giving into the temptation of warm arms and kind words.

There was still so much that needed to be said, but then, Louis was content to hold Harry while he slept and forget about it for a little while.

When Louis awoke the next morning—probably only a few hours later—Harry was still next to him, curled into him just as he was the night before. He didn’t appear to have moved at all. Louis smiled gently, running his finger over the softness of his cheek. Sun beams illuminated his skin, and despite the cuts and bruises, he looked as handsome as ever.

Louis kissed him softly on the forehead, which caused him to stir. Louis tried to shush him, get him to fall back asleep, but Harry’s eyes fluttered open insistently. They didn’t speak, just stared at each other in the soft morning light. Louis kissed his fingertips, then the gash on the back of his hand. The bandage was peeling already.

“Hi, baby,” Louis finally whispered.

Harry blinked back.

“Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters remaining. We've already written more than 2k on chapter eighteen, so if all goes well (though one of us has national exams this week, among other projects) there /might/ be an update before Saturday. Please show your support if you enjoy this fic--it means a great deal to the two of us x


	18. Chapter 18

“Liam and I met right after I’d come here, a few years back. At first I thought he would offer me his couch, that I might…” Harry rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers to the plastic cup the good nurse had given him. Tepid water sloshed inside. “He didn’t. Let me stay, I mean. Which was fine—I was just being naïve. He introduced me to his friends and they were like my safety net for the first years, before we started ‘dating’.” He made quotation marks with his healthy hand and grimaced. “I hung out less and less with them and Liam would stay over at my place and I at his, most nights.”

It glimmered of unanswered inquiries in Louis’ eyes but he stayed silent.

Harry decided to take a break.

The temperatures had risen all over the country. Outside the hospital window, water escaped from their assigned runnels and created a veil before the glass, blurring the world. Chunks of ice would break at the root and skid along the downspouts. Sometimes a chunk would block the path and flood the system. Harry had been watching them for a while.

Maybe for the first time, he wondered if the crash had been intentional. Undoubtedly he believed that it was an accident—Liam would have made him know if it wasn’t—but a small part of him considered the possibility that Liam had seen him wandering from alleys to the middle of the street and, perhaps without realising it, short circuited. That his reflexed had been dulled and his feet leapt from gas to brake when it was certain they would collide.

He couldn’t share these thoughts.

He looked at Louis, at how equally bruised they were now, and pursed his lips. It might as well have been Liam here by his side, couldn’t it?

He shook his head, blaming the gash in his skull for drawing parallels. Despite Louis’ non-verbal protests, Harry lifted his hand to Louis’ mouth. It skipped over swollen clots and fissures carved by the cold, almost as harsh as they ones in Harry’s face. He touched Louis’ chin and forced himself to remember how he had thought of Liam when they kissed.

Louis hummed softly in his throat and his sore lips parted, just far enough for his breaths to ruffle the frayed bandages. Harry withdrew but kept his eyes downcast.

He continued: “This one time you asked me if I’d been on any dates. I’ve been out to fairs, to restaurants, homebound ones. I would’ve brought him home to meet my folks but, you know. I need you to understand that I don’t talk about Liam. There’s a reason I haven’t mentioned him.”

“Were you in love?

Countless nights spent on Harry’s tiny couch flooded his mind, where Liam would act blanket so Harry wouldn’t have to keep his feet out in the cold. Even during summers it would get chilly inside. Harry would drown in the cologne and Liam’s breaths in his neck.

He said, “Doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s gonna be a dad, yeah?”

Louis nodded.

“We broke it off a month ago.”

Louis took Harry’s free hand and brought it to his nose, nudged over his knuckles.

“He told me he was married.”

Harry laughed. “Fuck if I know. He was engaged last time I met him. His girl invited me to the wedding. She had this… I know people say you’re supposed to _glow_ when you’re pregnant, but I…”

He shook his head, unwilling to delve into the subject. It still haunted him at night, when he was down to his final cigarette and the tar filtered through his brain. He wasn’t willing to heal just yet.

Louis stilled the trembles running through his hand, but Harry didn’t want to lie down. He needed to breathe.

“It was, like, the day before I saw you for the first time. We were supposed to go out—Well, Liam was supposed to come over. He’d been busy fucking someone else so we hadn’t seen each other in a while. So I get to the flat, get dressed and see the note—his note. He says it’d been brewing and that I should have anticipated it and he says that he’s bought cigarettes. I’d bought some wine he probably wouldn’t have liked, so I smoke and I drink and I have a stroke. Of course, he still stands as my emergency contact, so when I wake up he’s there by my bed. He was kinder then.”

It was as if he was there again, feeling Liam lean over the bed and kiss him too hard, clinging to the memory of him. It had felt like Liam had been coerced to leave, as if they still had a shot somehow.

Another chunk of ice plummeted outside the window. Beyond it, Christmas lights spun between houses. Homemade stars, pasted together by the second-hand glue found in schools, hung in the windows in the hospital’s opposite wing. The children’s unit.

“Can you get me out?”

Louis eyed the blood-congested tubes.

“I hate London. Hospitals here are worse. I can lie down at home or something. I’ve been worse.”

Louis kissed his knuckles.

“Maybe you’d want to travel with me.”

Harry thought about the alternate future where bad luck had struck him and Louis left abroad with someone else, someone who didn’t always think of an easy way out, someone who could satisfy Louis. He chose to keep his mouth shut when contemplating _boyfriends_. Louis had used the term like it was just another breath, and in front of Liam, at that, like it was natural and he was proud to utter it.

They would need to talk about that at some point, Harry knew, despite the overwhelming dread he felt. But the more he looked at Louis, even with the stubble ghosting his jaw, the fewer similarities he saw between Liam and him. Warmth overwhelmed him, so sudden that his casted arm twitched and he winced in the onslaught of pain. He shook his head gently when Louis reached for him.

A twinge of selfless hope entered into his voice when he said, “You thinking of picking it up again?”

“Like you said… London. But if I do I want it to be on my terms. No rush.”

“What are you planning?”

“I say wherever you want to go. I have time, Harry.”

 _Everywhere,_ Harry thought. _Louis, I’d go anywhere with you._

For a brief moment, whether it was thanks to the dizziness drowning out reality or the fact that Liam’s blood stained Louis’ knuckles, it seemed like an actual possibility.

He wanted to see the fjords Louis had spoken about. He wanted to waste days in bed with dubbed programmes on the telly and tabloids in foreign languages with unknown celebrities. He wanted to wake up with Louis’ lithe frame next to his and be fearless in his endeavours.

 _God_ , how he wanted that.

Maybe he could be good enough for Louis to be proud, for them to kiss at New Years and Valentine’s and for Louis to look at him like there was more to the name _Harry Styles_ than quick fucks and cigarettes.

There must be more to him than that.

Years spent on the treacherous edge of futility had left him incapacitated. People tended to drizzle salt on his ulcers in passing, some without noticing. Following example, he had begun doing it himself. No matter his opinion on the matter, people kept handing him salt shakers.

“I thought we were done for,” he whispered, voice wrecked by sentiments that had once driven him to folly, then in the weathered hands of Liam. “I was going to buy something when I got the shopping list. It was the earliest opportunity I had, sort of…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your birthday.” His eyes became bleak. “I was going to come. I wanted to be there.”

“I wanted you to,” Louis said. “You didn’t… You haven’t ruined anything, baby. I want you, yeah? I’ve been too hung up on the wrong things but I want you so much. Someday I want to tell you all about me. The things I’d rather forget and the things I’ll be looking back on when I’m dying. I want you to know about how I met Zayn, how shitty I was to my family, the stupid shit I did on the road, how good you have been for me. You’ve been so good for me, Harry, my well-being, and I want you to—“

Outside in the hall sounded a wall of footsteps, skipping and plodding to a halt before the closed door. Between the parted curtains, Zayn’s droopy hair poked up.

“Ma’am,” he said—Harry recognised the drawl of late sobriety in his voice, one he himself had worn many times—and cleared his throat, “You don’t understand, it’s—“

“I’m sorry, only one visitor at a time. It just so happens that this visitor has been here all night, so I really don’t see it plausible for _all of you_ to enter.”

“Louis’ there,” Niall’s voice chimed in.

Zayn again. “Ma’am, we’re basically one person. It won’t be long.” A pause. “It’s Christmas and we’re in need of some good spirits.”

“I guess…” The nurse paused. “Please tell me neither of you are high, because the last visitor—“

“I’m sober,” Niall said, “And I can account for these two as well.”

After another break, the door swung open. Without signalling Louis, Zayn burst forward and squashed Harry into a hug. Furniture and boyfriends slewed aside at his mercy.

“Christ, Harry,” he muttered. “No one cares about the stupid booze. It was such a waste of paper, that list. We shouldn’t have let you leave. Who did this shit anyway?”

When Louis looked to him for confirmation, Harry wore an imploring gaze, reinforced by the tremor in his hand as his palm pressed away the elbow jutting into his ribs.

“Hit and run,” Louis said.

“If you’d whipped out the Zayn Malik card we would’ve gotten in quicker,” Niall said and, when Zayn shook his head in Harry’s neck, held up his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t think that one through. We’re here now and we brought presents.”

Anna rattled the plastic bag in her grasp.

Finally disengaging and allowing Harry to breathe, Zayn’s scowl amplified at the sight of his flatmate, just as dark-eyed and bruised where he kicked forward on the feeble plastic chair.

“And who the fuck shat all over your face?”

“Hit and run,” Louis repeated, unable to squander a grin.

In the harsh lighting, the intricate layers of muscles woven beneath his faintly sunburned skin stood out. The blaze used to be more vivid, but English winter had gotten the better of him. He was fuller than Harry in every way—his eyes kindled adoration and his were the kind of hands you would remember from a handshake—and didn’t wield shame on his sleeve. Despite his thin face and narrow shoulders, Harry had no doubt he could withstand a tempest.

Harry looked at himself, at the bones and the dotted skin, and rolled his hand into Louis’ collar to pull him near. Louis relented without question, adjusting to the fleeting pressure of Harry’s bandaged palm to his icy cheek. Abrasive strands fells over the wiry fingers knotting through Louis’ hair and Harry’s other hand joined in, cautiously urging Louis forward until they touched foreheads.

The distinctive tang of earthy blood embraced him briefly as they kissed before he delved deeper, his sore hands fidgeting in Louis’ nape with furrowing brows. A tint of stale hospital coffee circled his tongue and the smoky remains of a joint, below the wholesome warmth Louis exuded. Unruly pants spilled into Harry’s mouth and soft hands framed his back, his cheeks, until they parted and Louis sloped into his chest.

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip to supress a smile while the pasty gown he wore swept over his back, coaxed by Louis’ hands. Under the veil of piddling conversation, three pairs of eyes drifted to them.

“Will get you out of here,” Louis mumbled into his chest. “Don’t think you’re in a critical state still. I’ll buy you lunch—it’ll be grand.”

“I missed you,” Harry uttered.

Instead of elaborating and saying that he hadn’t only been lost in the streets last night, but that he had missed the proximity, long before the accident, he watched Louis nod in reply.

“Boys,” Anna said and dumped the contents of the bag next to Harry’s stiff legs. “Merry Christmas!”

Louis pivoted his head up, palms resting on the specks of Harry’s flesh uncovered by the gown. “There’s still a week to go, innit?”

“Four days, but why wait when time is a faux concept?”

He gave in. “It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I mean, we’re already here, and no one is dead.”

“That’s the spirit.” Anna settled the bag on the foot of the bed. She took out a carefully wrapped rectangle, sleek with blue snowflake paper. “I think this is yours to Harry, Louis.”

Louis shook his head. “Let’s save that one for later. Give him the other one.”

Zayn gave him a knowing smirk, and Louis pressed his lips together in a mischievous smile. Harry glanced at him curiously, but Louis shook his head. He kissed the pout on Harry’s lips away.

Anna passed Harry a small box. Louis’ arms slid around his shoulders as he made quick work of tearing open the paper, revealing a small jewellery box. Harry looked up at his bruised face, eyes wide.

“Open it,” Louis murmured. He nudged his cheek against his nose, unaware of the fixated stares from his friends around them.

Harry’s nimble fingers, though shaky with the itch to feel a cigarette against them, popped the button on the wooden box. As the lid lifted away, he revealed a small locket, engraved in winding cursive.

_“No winter is too cold when you have enough love.”_

Harry’s lips pulled up into a small smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Louis’ lips melted against his forehead, then pressed against his nose. His soft smile made Harry’s stomach flip giddily, a foreign feeling to him.

“When you get out of here we should go for drinks,” Niall said. “You know, to celebrate the fact that you’re alive and early Christmas and all that.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Save it for New Year’s.”

Niall pouted. Beside him, Anna snorted.

Dull pain thrummed in Harry’s left side, not so much in the gash by his temple. The fleeting thought that it would be wise to rest crossed his mind. They said he hadn’t broken anything—nothing major, it was—only the external wounds. Not even a fracture. Maybe Liam had braked soon enough, after all.

“I want out now,” Harry said. Cut fingers delved into the creases of his bandage, stopped by Louis’ uninjured hand.

“You should keep that on. Don’t be a daredevil.”

Harry grinned. He couldn’t stop grinning.

“Don’t want to look like a freak.”

“You should keep it on,” Anna interjected. “As the only responsible one in this group, I insist.”

Zayn shot her a look. “You? Responsible? Please, I’ve seen you drunk.”

Anna slapped him on the shoulder playfully. “Shut up.” She turned to Harry. “You really should keep that one.”

“Fine.” He gave in.

Louis dropped a kiss to his nose.

“Good boy,” he said quietly, for Harry’s ears only.

He blushed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“This place is making me anxious. Can we hurry up my release or something? I’m sure I can recover just fine in my own bed.” He caught Louis’ troubled eyes. “Or in an actual bed. Yours?”

“Mine,” Louis said.

“You can bring Baby over, maybe,” Anna butted in. “Bet she misses you loads, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “That’d be nice. It’s always weird not sleeping with her curled up by my head.”

Anna smiled gently. “I’ll go get the nurse for you.”

Louis’ fingers remained twined with his as the nurse checked him over and got him to sign a release form. His swollen, bruised fingers made the task difficult, creating a shaky swirl of his signature across the bottom of the page.

Harry breathed in deeply when he got outside. He hadn’t seen the sky in a day, and he didn’t realize how much he liked the fresh air until he had been cooped up in a hospital for far too long.

He had missed his morning smoke, plus several others the previous day. The kind nurse had allowed him one crack of the window at noon for a few minutes, during which he had time to use up quite a few fags, and then helped him back to the sterile bed.

He hadn’t finished off any of them—hadn’t done that in a long time, come to think of it—and he had accidentally put one out in the space between his fingers, on the white wood. It had smouldered the paint and he had felt the heat of it, that haunting sizzle. He had examined it for a while before his brain caught up and he flicked it out the window, at the homemade stars in the windows far away.

Thankfully no one stopped him when he lit another one.

Louis remained by his side as slim plumes soared from his mouth. Louis didn’t flinch at the stench and when they kissed, he seemed to press closer instead of keeping his distance.

Harry leaned back in his embrace and let it streak from the corner of his mouth, stuck in that same grin, as he watched Louis stare.

“Have your other boyfriends smoked?” he asked.

Louis shot a glance to Zayn and Anna.

Zayn protested, indignant.

“I didn’t actually do that back then, thanks.”

Harry nuzzled into Louis’ neck, thinking about the term _boyfriends_ , and whether or not he had become more talkative because of the accident or because he had been unable to still his thoughts with cigarettes. The latter should have had an opposite effect, he reckoned.

“I know it’s you,” Louis said, “But it hurts you.”

“It’s a good kind of hurt.”

“Like me?”

Harry blew another streak. The stick seemed to glow in his grasp.

“You could hurt me more.”

Louis kissed him again. Harry never wanted him to stop.

“So, what do you say about those drinks?”

Niall bounced on the balls of his feet, scarf high over his mouth and blonds strands drooping with sullen snow, checking to see if anyone had heard him speaking through the fabric.

“Harry and I are going to the park, actually,” Louis said and squeezed Harry into his side. His eyes just barely levelled with Harry’s chin.

Niall looked to Harry for affirmation.

Harry chuckled. “We’re going to the park.”

As an old couple came along and occupied the bench Zayn and Anna sat on, the two made their way over and Zayn slung an arm around Niall’s shoulder so the three of them were entangled. Halfway stuck in a gloomy expression, Niall’s features morphed into part perplexity, part hope.

“Hey,” Zayn said.

“Hey,” Niall said.

“We heard something about drinks.”

“I know. ‘Save it for New Year’s’.”

“While that is in fact true,” Zayn said, “We’re having lunch with some people in the business—no major names, so don’t worry—if you want to tag along.”

“You’ll have met most of them at the party,” Anna said when noticing his apprehension.

All the brittle excitement welled back to Niall, who poked his nose from the scarf, even loosened it a touch, and said, “Thank you. Yes, thank you.”

“We’ll see you guys later tonight, then?” Louis said. His fingers slid between the gaps of Harry’s, squeezing.

Anna kissed each of them on the cheek, gentle and sweet, one of Harry’s favourite things about her. She was always kind, and he never realized how much he needed it until he had met her. No wonder Louis was okay with Zayn dating her.

Hand in hand, Louis led him down the back streets, down the gravel path dusted in snow.

“There’s a nice park here. Near a lake, too,” he said, humming aloud as they walked. Harry listened intently, gaze locked on Louis’ wind bitten cheeks and nose.

They walked until a frozen lake into view. Louis kissed him briefly, short enough for Harry to want more, running his lithe fingers over the bandage. Louis pulled away with a giddy smile and pointed to the lake.

“I’ll race you!” Louis shouted. He had already taken off, sprinting down the hill towards the frozen lake.

“Fuck you! I’m bruised!” Harry shouted back.

He took off after Louis, hand pressed to his ribs in an attempt to ease the pain. When he caught up, Louis was sprawled on a park bench, grinning wickedly.

“I won,” he said.

Harry frowned playfully, plunking down beside him. “No shit. I just got the shit knocked out of me a day ago. I would have won otherwise, you know.”

Louis laughed. “Sure you would have.”

Harry opened his mouth for a smart ass reply, but Louis shut him up with a kiss. Chapped lips eased together, as light and gentle as the soft snowflakes falling around them. He listened to the songs of tiny birds hiding away in the sticky pine foliage. Louis’ fingers tangled in his nape, fervent, pulling him closer with a gentle tug.

Louis kissed him breathless, as he always seemed to. Their breath mingled visibly in the cool air from their close proximity, foreheads pressed together, unwilling to separate.

“I love you,” Louis murmured.

Harry almost didn’t hear him. “What?”

“I love you,” Louis repeated, more certain this time. He pulled back to look Harry in the eyes, fingers tangled on his lap.

“Why?”

“Because you’re you,” Louis said, eyes blazing with fierce affection. Even if he didn’t understand, Harry felt it. “You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I know I don’t see it often, but when I do, I just feel myself falling harder for you. It’s your personality; the way you accidentally care about people even though you rarely give a shit. The way you are with your cat, the way your flaws make you human, and the way you tell me off when I do something wrong. You have no idea what that means to me, that you feel comfortable enough with me. I love you. I love all of you.”

Harry’s face split into a grin.

“You mean it?”

“Yes, baby. I love you. I’ve loved you for ages.”

For ages.

And suddenly Harry could see them travelling together, really see it, actually having the guts to imagine kissing Louis good morning and there would be no car accidents or pregnancies. They would go abroad.

Harry laughed. “I’m so cold.” As if to further the statement, he snivelled.

“I know the perfect thing for heating up.” They strode through the snow while the park’s other visitors ogled them. Harry held Louis’ hand tighter. “It’s your other present. Really think you’ll like this one.”

“I still haven’t gotten you anything.”

“Will you punch me if I say that this is enough for me?” Louis looked back at him. He said, “I love you.”

Harry didn’t punch him.

It didn’t need to last forever, he figured.

And at that moment, it didn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the fluffiest chapter of IGCTD. Liam's finally out in the open, how about that? And the L word. How do you think Harry feels knowing Louis loves him? Does he feel the same? Has he known for a while?
> 
> Next chapter contains the prelude to New Year's and we'll see how the gang celebrates the end of the year, plus we'll find out what Harry's second present is. An unexpected guest shows up and the question of resolutions come up, some bigger than others.
> 
> We're nearing the end, only two chapters to go! Any ideas about the final outcome yet?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delayed, yes, but only because of the unexpected word count (and exams). This chapter reaches well over 8 000 words, which is... It's _by far_ the longest chapter of the fic. Beware of excessive mentions (and uses) of vomiting (delicately handled, we hope!), kisses, and the beginning of the end. Happy reading x

Harry didn’t leave the bed for days. When she wasn’t drooling on the flat’s other tenants, Baby would perch on his stomach, eyes slits of lime in her black fur. Louis urged him to rest and ensured that blankets and tea were within reach at all times. Now and then, they went out for brief strolls around the building. Harry had never itched so badly.

They didn’t talk about their families, despite Louis’ promise. Harry didn’t mind. Maybe they were topics of the past. The closest they got was when Anna’s parents came over one afternoon and after they had left, Anna said that she had enough to go around when it came to good parents. They all signed up for a dose.

They looked a lot at Louis’ albums. Other than working as a barber and a model, he had spent time in various repair shops up north, been an apprentice at a local fishmonger (“My first job—Mr Moss was the kindest employer, too bad the entire place smelled rotten.”) and been a trainee at an art exhibit in the States. He had motored through Western Europe once and declined an invitation out to Ibiza when he reached the Spanish coast, instead taking a daytrip to the casinos in Monaco where he had met several tourists who had gambled away their money.

Harry couldn’t grasp all these stories, even as the photographic evidence stared him in the face. Louis was only a year or two older and he had already accomplished so much, had already taken his share of the world.

While they looked, Louis kept talking about _what ifs_.

_What if I’d gone with that fishing boat to Nova Scotia?_

_What if Zayn and I had never talked?_

_What if I’d never left Doncaster?_

_What if I’d never met you?_

For Louis’ birthday, Harry took his bandage off permanently. Anna and Zayn had taken turns assisting him when the time came to change it. Louis hadn’t been allowed to see the marred skin below.

That evening, Louis pulled him close, reverent lips hovering over his skin, and asked him to take it off. Harry had sat up, wary of bruised limbs as Louis’ mellow hands skimmed over his hips. And he unwrapped himself. The frayed bandage piled over their naked skin. Louis touched his face, wouldn’t stop touching it, and Harry closed his eyes as he leaned into it, spine curving down as if gravity forced him. And Louis whispered to him.

“You’re an angel,” he said. “You’re a god damn angel.”

For Christmas Day, Niall brought over his guitar.

All gathered around the telly and listened as Niall recalled Irish folk songs and prompted a sing-along. Joints were passed around—Niall and Louis declined—and spoiled fruit cake was frowned upon. Someone hollered drunkenly outside.

While everyone watched the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer DVD Niall had brought with him, Harry sat with Baby in his lap on the balcony, smoking. Zayn came and went and then Niall joined him. Niall picked Baby up in his arms and she nearly fell asleep there, pawing his chest. Strings of drool spanned from her maw to the knit.

“So you’re a thing now?” Niall said. “Properly?”

Harry nodded.

“How’s your brother?”

“Still in prison.”

“How’s the rest of your family?”

“Still bitter about prison.”

Harry smoked. Niall pet Baby.

“This place has become a bit of a commune, hasn’t it?”

“Well, you basically live here now,” Niall said.

Harry thought about the pipes and oven back in his flat. Probably rusted to hell now.

“Maybe you should move in as well,” he said, taking a deliberate drag with loose lips. “We could have orgies all day.”

Baby twitched in her sleep as Niall laughed.

“Let me teach you how to play the guitar. How much do you know about Irish Christmas carols?”

“You mean there are others besides _Fairytale of New York?_ ”

Niall handed over Baby in embarrassment. The strings of drool popped.

As they took turns plucking and strumming on the couch, Louis watched them fondly. Furrows of concentration adorned Harry’s forehead while the unhinged wail of nylon strings pervaded the flat. Even when one of the strings near snapped, he kept at it with Niall’s encouragements.

When Zayn and Anna finished snogging they joined the group and Niall offered the guitar up for grabs.

“I know one,” Louis said and gently took it from his hand, as if it were a child of his, and beckoned a final bittersweet sing-along with his soft voice.

Harry should have known Louis could play an instrument. It weaved in perfectly with his jittery background.

Once they had parted that night and Harry rested on Louis’ chest in bed, he asked Louis to sing for him. Louis held him close and hummed, gradually building up to words and a lulling melody.

In the morning, Harry regretted falling asleep.

After Christmas he was permitted to leave the bed. He spent his days watching Band of Brothers with Anna and plinking on the guitar Niall had so graciously left behind, which he only did when everyone else were out and Baby was safe and sound in Louis’ bedroom. He wondered if the sky wept because of his dreadful musicality.

Niall and Nick teamed up at the café to cover his shifts. With the customers on holiday, Mary’s was swarmed on the regular. When the two of them didn’t suffice, they brought in a tall blonde who dealt with customers while they baked and mopped. Harry hadn’t seen her, and a part of him was afraid he’d recognise features in her if he did. Neon nails, a baby bump.

It got impossibly colder towards the end of December.

To fight the cold, Louis made frequent use of Harry’s Christmas present whenever he could.

The warm and greased dildo rolled off on the mattress while Louis kissed Harry’s gasps away, partly pinning him down, partly stroking his flushed chest.

“Did you like that?” Louis smiled, teeth latching onto Harry’s necklace, trembling lips pressing over his breastbone.

Harry couldn’t think beyond the tingling in his lower body. Time ceased to exist.

“How long…?”

Louis kissed his knuckles, feather-light sensations in the residue of intense pressure.

“Few hours,” he said.

Harry couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. He breathed for a second—hoarse breaths that rattled his entire ribcage and had him clenching the hand tangled in Louis’ hair.

On autopilot, his fingers drifted to the ashtray stacked onto Louis’ albums. It was as old as Zayn’s smoking habit, its rim lined with dents. A single crack ran through its bottom, side to side, to mark an accident Harry had no knowledge about.

When tapping the half-finished stick, ash added to the black piles in the tray, and some of it adorned the chestnut nightstand. Louis’ head fell to his chest, arms soliciting soft-spoken promises from his lungs. The inked stag gazed up at him.

The past few hours had shaped Harry’s jagged voice into something placid, something that had Louis splaying a hand over his hammering heart and asking:

“What are your kinks?”

The cheap lighter rekindled Harry’s cigarette. Harry coughed, jostling Louis, but his free hand soon found its way back into his slick hair.

They lay in silence, Louis touching the dildo and Harry smoking. When Louis started coughing as well, Harry leaned up to open the window, allowing hail to edge inside the room.

The hand drifted from Louis’ hair to his cheek. Harry peered down, thinking how beautiful Louis was, thinking about how he couldn’t verbalise the thoughts.

Louis held up the dildo and twisted to look at Harry.

“Is this a kink?”

He was smiling, always dauntlessly.

Harry put out the cigarette.

“Am I supposed to know my kinks?”

“Obviously not everything…” Louis trailed off, abandoning the dildo to slither up next to him. “I have some.”

“You do,” Harry said. “Bet it’s feet.”

Louis ducked forward, laughing into his neck.

“I’m the least kinky person you’ll date.”

“Except when you rimmed me. Or blew me in public.”

“Except for those times. You’re still heaving.”

“I’m not.”

He wasn’t. The tingles had magnified somehow and nimble fingers swept over his abdomen without real intention. But his breathing was under control again.

“You should see yourself,” Louis said, and Harry wanted to object that he _was_ seeing himself and the mess that came with it, before Louis continued, “You’re so handsome. You’ll never know how lucky I am.”

That was a truth Harry could stomach.

Instead of tarnishing the moment with words, Harry wound his arms around Louis, held him close, staring. Louis blinked back. Legs intersecting, they kissed. Mounds of muscle flowed against him and he forgot about his own sharp joints pressing into flesh and fabrics.

Fists hammered on the door.

“Fucking cock-block,” Louis muttered, moving on top of Harry so that the downy comforter bared his spine and hips.

“We’re hungry!” Zayn bellowed.

“Get some take-out—he’s knee-deep!”

Harry was positive the threat had gone unheard as Louis forced it out between tongues and cautious grinds.

“I’m kinda hungry,” he said while Louis paused to breathe.

“What’s that?”

“I’m starving, actually.”

“Well, take-out sure won’t do it then.” Louis got off reluctantly, shimmying into clothes with movements oddly erratic for him. “You’re not horny still, are you?”

“A little.”

“Promise I’ll give you a nice blowjob before bed, yeah?”

As he exited, Baby came barrelling inside, hopping up to glower inches from Harry’s face.

“You missed me?” Harry asked.

She glowered.

“All right.” Trembling fingers scratching behind ears and down her throat, she relented in rumbling purrs and settled in the hollow of his stomach. Claws sharp as awls scraped his ribs.

“Do you feel that?” he asked. “I’m fattening up. Like you.” If she’d been able to, he knew she would have grinned. “I shouldn’t have kept you this long, huh? Someone else would’ve fed you properly. Liam had it figured out weeks ago.”

It was a stretch that had the awls piercing his pasty skin, but he sealed the window and dusted off the crystals from the windowsill. Strips of drool spanned from Baby’s tiny fangs, tips poised outside her chin in a yawn stuck partway. Gently he rearranged them on the bed, wary to not dip her fur into smidges of lube, and examined the damaged ashtray. Someone had glued it together with outmost care. Harry had grown accustomed to Louis’ supple hands, but he had seen the grace with which Zayn handled cigarettes and pencils as he scrawled autographs, and Anna’s steadfast yet cautious handhold. It could have been anyone’s work.

Outside the door he heard Anna saying, “We heard you,” and Louis grumbling to the slammer of pans and pots.

No barren webs spanned in the ceiling nooks, Harry noted. Below the dunes of clothes, the floor still held a varnished shine sans the brutal gashes left from previous tenants. The windowpanes weren’t askew and didn’t bare gaps where winter could enter and encompass the room. The blinds shut fully.

“Do we live here now?” he asked. “This flat is so much better than ours. No matter where I end up I want you to stay here. I can’t take care of you. But I’ll try to stick around for a bit longer, how’s that?” He listened to the susurration of traffic, finger curling up Baby’s throat. “He’s too good for me.”

On his way out, the full-body mirror in the closet snared him. The bruises usually scuffing his body from knocking into furniture or being handled too roughly in the sheets had faded into specks of dirt, like barely-there scars he had learnt to go through the motions with but no longer reflected upon. Instead of the common love bites Louis left behind, his neck and chest were roped in irate marks from twisting on the mattress. If it wasn’t a trick of the lighting (Harry doubted it—the hail jabbed down stronger than ever in the bleak outdoors) he had gained some long-lost colour to his cheeks. He wondered if it was from sex or if it had been there before.

True to his word, Louis slaved in the kitchen whereas the Cadwallader-Malik duo cuddled up to the evening news. Both gestured Harry towards the couch. Baby conquered his spot with them in a matter of seconds and Harry snuck off while the couple doted on her.

Looking over Louis’ shoulder, it seemed the pan contained richly seasoned fish.

“How come you didn’t bite me?” he said.

Louis glanced over his shoulder, eyes split open briefly before raking down Harry’s body.

“How did you manage to find clean clothes?”

“It’s yours.”

“Well, so is this!”

Harry had avoided incendiary topics for so long that he knew the patterns of reluctance for them in his sleep. If he thought about it, he reached a conclusion himself.

“Hospital didn’t break me,” he said.

Louis was quick to say, “I know. I know, Harry. That’s not why.”

“Then what is?”

“I don’t want to always be rough with you.”

“You’re not.”

The nebulous glint in Louis’ eyes vanished while he left the hissing fish, mouth open to protest. The counter chilled Harry’s palm as he leaned against it, facing the darkened living room. The whizzing kitchen fan lit the slits in Louis’ face. Though the specks of blood were gone, the wounded foothills burst through his smooth complexion.

“You’re not rough,” Harry said again. Knowing a way to avert the focus, he said, “How’s your family?”

The topic had Louis returning to the fish, cussing under his breath as slices of it glued to the pan. Masking it with a bleak smile, he said, “Can we talk about that later? I’ll tell you tonight.”

Zayn disengaged from the clutch of girlfriend and cat and absorbed dirty dishes on his way to the counter.

“After that blowjob you promised,” Harry murmured, brushing Louis’ hip in departure.

“Oi,” Zayn said, appalled, “No nasty in the kitchen.”

Anna and Baby accepted the company when Harry made room for himself on the edge of the couch. It didn’t take much of his unintentional squirming before Anna shook her head and beckoned him over. Within reach, Anna dragged him into her arms and unveiled his forehead of curls.

“We’re really glad to have you here,” she said. “He’s so much happier with you.”

“No tears,” he said whilst trying to tame his taut body with a strained smile. “Louis is soft-hearted enough for all of you. It’ll be too much if you start with it as well.”

Anna released him. His smile softened.

“You think too highly of me.”

That night they talked. It was not so much a mutual conversation as it was Louis talking and Harry processing. Even Baby had been excluded from the exchange and resorted to howl in the hallways until Anna retrieved her.

The travels had started out as innocent summer fun when Louis was on the breach of seventeen. His mother had just birthed twins. Canned chickpeas and carrots crowded counters as well as bathroom cupboards and resulted in one of two garments with ingrained baby vomit. Meanwhile, the remaining sisters had their lifestyle compromised and threw tantrums when they weren’t sleeping or eating.

Louis hadn’t been able to stomach the hectic environment. Previous short-term jobs around the block had earned him a starting-fund and he had been off north before July. On the road he lived with friends of acquaintances, eating cheap to live another day.

The nature of the travels was arcane even to Louis. One day he would roam a harbour and its boats, the next he would be back in the countryside assisting in clay pigeon massacres. Most of his peers had been in on the adventure until September came with wicked gales and academic responsibility. But returning to normal never crossed Louis as an alternative.

 _One more week,_ he kept saying.

A year later he reconvened with Zayn in the depths of Sheffield, at a diner that had just enough space for a curved counter and retro tables with matching salt- and peppershakers. They had been briefed to each other at a handful of modelling gigs where Louis had been on both side of the camera lens. At the diner they bonded over a game of pool. The following week, the two had gone abroad.

Harry remembered the naked photoshoot and the photograph he had wrenched under a loose windowsill in his flat. At first he had carried it with him but when their relationship started to deepen he had been afraid to be caught with it. He hadn’t looked at it for weeks.

He told Louis this, who only laughed, lump in throat from retelling his backstory.

Once Louis had realised the consequences of his actions he attempted to make it up by mailing a financial aid with whatever he had scraped up during the month. Only a handful of times had he met them face to face after that, each time stiffer than the last, until the fear to be rejected once again mounted into underlying dread.

They stopped talking after that. Harry wanted to say that shitty family relations seemed to be a common trait among his social circle. That Louis wasn’t alone in the guilt. That it would never blow over completely.

From the way Louis’ arms constricted around him while falling asleep, Harry could tell they thought the same.

 

❄

 

After an early shift at Mary’s on the 31st, Harry found his flat soiled with sodas and a game of jumbled chess. Zayn graced the back of his couch whereas Louis sat cross-legged on the floor. Unbothered with how they had entered, or where they had gotten the board from, Harry bristled past them into the kitchen.

“Apparently no one is working today,” he said while simultaneously depositing their dishes under the running tap and checking if Baby had enough food. From the living room, Louis hummed in interest, likely striking the perfect blow on Zayn, because the latter grumbled and then followed the sound of pieces wheeling over the board.

Harry continued, “Boss made a last-minute call to close earlier, otherwise I’d be stuck there past the fireworks.”

“I bribed him,” Zayn said, voice witted yet withdrawn. One of his knights scurried ahead. Louis frowned.

Neither paid mind to Harry when he slipped into the shower. Thanks to Louis’ courageous efforts with the pipes, the water had gone from scalding to arctic, landing on a midway setting that allowed him to shower in short rounds. Between one of these rounds he sat on the edge of the toilet, snaring soaked ringlets around his thumb, when he heard Louis admit defeat and Zayn rejoice. A regular conversation started up between the two.

It dealt with where Niall was at—already claiming seats in the Fox and the Hound; Anna kept him company—who would be offering the first round of shots—Zayn shouldered the imminent tab—how drunk they each were allowed to get—Niall was the designated cab-caller and the sanity—and quick tips to deal with the morning after blues of the new year.

The drying water made Harry’s skin itch. He pushed the curls back, avoiding his reflection in the smashed mirror. Charred stripes marred the bottom of the bathtub, despite Louis’ attempt to scrub them away. Harry hadn’t bought a new shower curtain.

Suddenly Zayn’s voice peaked.

“Shit! How’d he take it?”

“We’re here now, aren’t we? And he already knew about us but we… I told him everything. The long story.”

“The long story,” Zayn repeated.

The ruthless water elongated the pauses in the dialogue, and Harry got off the toilet to eavesdrop by the door.

Zayn again. “And when was this?”

“Hospital. In the park.”

“Just like that?”

Harry scratched his skin.

“Not really. There’s never a right time, you know?” Their voices shifted from the living room to the kitchen. Here, they cleared. Louis continued, “I’ve wanted to say it for so long, perhaps too soon the first few times, but god I love him. And it’s frustrating that the accident needed to happen for me to get that and not be scared of it. Scared of what would happen.”

Returning to the shower, the nail marks on his arms and thighs scorched under the spray. Harry hissed and grappled for the shower bar, skin flaring reds and whites. It took ages for it to shut down.

Louis snuck up behind him as he dressed. In the misted mirror he drew something Harry couldn’t ever make out the shape of. He seized the addling moment to wind his arms around Harry.

“You’ve never freelanced as an artist, have you?” Harry said and added, unwilling to hear a reply, “I dropped by the liquor store. One in the vicinity. Figured I’d be too hungover to get some tomorrow.”

Kisses hotter and kinder than the shower water trailed over his neck. Sore from desiccated air contra damp flesh, Harry flinched involuntarily.

“You’re being clingy and far from _fashionably_ late,” Zayn remarked from his backrest-throne. He had started up a new game alone. The black party was winning.

“This place would be fantastic in the summer,” Louis said, no higher than a whisper as he met Harry’s gaze in the mirror. “Just a light breeze with the windows cracked open and dinner all laid on a blanket and the sun coming down from over there.” Louis pointed.

 _Been there, done that,_ crossed Harry’s mind.

“Five years of this and you’d think otherwise.”

“You can stay at mine more often.”

Having grown bored of beating himself, Zayn sauntered up to hang in the doorway like an impatient child.

“I know you’re in love and all,” he said, “But the love of _my_ life is alone in a pub with an Irishman and I’d rather be there than not when they get wasted.”

“Niall is as light-weighted as they come,” Harry said but pushed Louis aside to quick-dry his hair.

Louis tutted, “Prejudices.”

 

❄

 

Unlike other nights at the Hound, the telly didn’t broadcast sports events. Not even static flickered across the flat screen. A playlist of classic rock songs rumbled windowpanes as well as chairs, altered by joy of the masses and the thrumming of hail. Special events at the pub always wrought odd scents. Tonight it was less of acrid sweat and cocktails sweeter than pastries—more of exhaust etched into the geared-up costumers, each wearing a tiny piece of the city as they emerged from their heavy clothing. Someone grabbed the night’s first drink with greased fingers from taking an engine apart, rancid oil spread over the logo. Another one shed fitted gloves, plucking with a yellow-aged menu.

At the sight of everyone’s attire, Harry thought he might be over-dressed—which was outrageous since his suiting up was equal to wholesome jeans a size too large and flannels. The bleached denim striped his calves where it folded above heeled boots. One accidental slit revealed his complexion below.

Even Zayn had stepped down to relax with a plain tee and the Christmas socks Anna’s parents had bought him. He sprawled over her and the booth as if it was certain he would go unnoticed in this environment. And he might have done right by that. As far as Harry knew, paparazzi didn’t follow him around to the Fox and the Hound or even exposed Mary’s Corner on the regular.

Last New Year’s, Harry had spent midnight Baby-proofing the flat after she went berserk at the thunderous clatter of firecrackers. Liam had invited him over to a party at an acquaintance of a friend and knowing what Liam’s mates usually dragged him into, Harry had declined. After an early evening of getting drunk on the steps of Liam’s flat, Harry had gone home to find streaks of vomit over his mattress and the couch, rutted by Baby’s paws.

As Louis and Niall got deep into a conversation about lit class, Harry guzzled his ale—work hadn’t offered lunch break and so he drank with a stomach too treacherous to fill with something heavier than what Niall could consume. Zayn kept them coming, as promised. Although a brief headache set in, Harry had no plans to stop.

Just like Zayn with Anna, he found his arms hooping Louis, heart flaring.

“We’re going abroad,” Louis announced unceremoniously while Harry stole from his tequila.

“Please say Ireland, please say Ireland so I can go with you,” Niall said and despite his fuzzily woven lilt, there was a severe tremble beneath.

“No worries mate, we’ll drop you off. I’m not too certain Harry would want to stay though.”

Like that, all eyes turned to the lanky boy on Louis’ arm, all rosy cheeks and heavy eyes. Before the attention could discomfit him, Niall spoke again.

“So where _are_ you headed?”

Louis shrugged, gently prying the alcohol from Harry’s fingers.

Niall persisted, “When?”

Another shrug, then a sloped smile. “Plans never worked for me, so why start now? It’ll all fall into place somehow. It’s not like I’m bound to a schedule—I’m sure Zayn could find…”

Breaking off mid-sentence, Louis’ voice deepened, turned soft around the edges, and spoke more to himself than anyone at the table while his gaze cut the crowd. “Why’s he here?”

Nick Grimshaw paced up to them, hack in his steps. With him swept a haze of soggy winter.

“I was invited,” he replied flatly to the violent stare.

“Not by—“

“He’s my guest, Tomlinson,” Anna hacked off.

It stunned Louis into silence, briefly. Without hesitation, Harry finished off the ale, eyes imploring Zayn for more. Within seconds another round filled the table.

Zayn groused. “These two are too much tonight. Makes me think Anna and I are weak.”

Harry would have been grateful for Zayn attempting to diffuse the tension, he would, but his brain short-circuited when Louis leaned into him,

Niall swapped sides in the booth, allowing Nick to settle in next to Anna. He did so gauchely. Far from his usual cool he now emitted all levels of discomfort Harry had ever felt while maintaining shreds of dignity. Not even a few drinks could encourage Harry to meet his gaze, especially not as Louis leaned in with a sharp tongue and sharper intentions.

To everyone’s surprise, Nick spoke first. The petals of hail on his scarf bloomed to wither.

“I’m not here to start shit. I wouldn’t be here at all, actually, but I didn’t have anywhere else.”

Here he caught Harry’s gaze. And just as Louis mumbled an apology, something burst inside Harry. Acid raced up his throat. The headache amplified, pummelling the few bars keeping his composure intact. Somewhere he knew the vague outline of the building and dashed towards the toilets. Although, it wasn’t dashing as much as it was staggering and croaking apologies to strangers whose elbows he yanked.

Not thinking about how he had Louis pinned to the phone number-scrawled cubicle wall slipped by easier while retching. Below the edge he sighted the nest of mops they had stumbled into and briefly the overwhelming sensation of sandalwood cologne whitened his knuckles around the damp toilet seat.

The door screeched open and shut. It didn’t surprise him to find it unlocked. It did surprise him to hear Niall’s voice.

“Easy now, it’s all handled. Nothing is on you.”

Beneath gravelly lids, Harry examined the wetness on his fingertips. Consecutive waves of retches followed.

Niall was wise enough to withdraw as Harry searched to cling onto him.

“Don’t let Louis in here,” he said, going to wipe his hands on the bleached denim before pressing past Niall to the sinks. Sprays of water from the pipes drenched his left leg. It was humiliating enough for anyone to see him this way. Nothing compared to being called in as an emergency contact to a stroke, he thought.

“Do you have mints or anything? Any of those wet… Wet…”

“Wet wipes?”

From somewhere, Niall pulled out a pack of gum. With mild force he stilled Harry while wiping his mouth with the wetted Bible-thin paper in the machine.

“I haven’t eaten anything today,” Harry confessed. “I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

A sigh rippled the air. Niall squinted in the exhausted light to see the bile. Unlike the usual sighs of broken patience and disappointment Harry had built thick skin towards, the nature of this was unknown. Harry found it pleasant.

Niall said, “They have nuts and crisps here, that’s for sure. Maybe an occasional sandwich. Otherwise I think there’s a twenty-four-seven supermarket around the corner.”

“You fuss.”

“I do.”

They left it at that.

When Niall handed him over to the booth, no questions were asked. Anna had involved everyone in an irascible discussion. With what seemed like a trick of fate, Louis and Nick had teamed up. Moments later it dissolved into burked laughter.

Harry sat down on the gummy leather seat.

“Love your breath, baby,” Louis remarked with a greeting kiss. “We _have_ to do body shots later. Zayn’s said he can convince Niall to do some, even.”

Between having his mouth bruised and tugging down the hem of Louis’ collar, Harry caught Zayn returning from outside, the butt of a cigarette stuffed behind his ear.

“You went without me?” Harry asked.

Zayn just gestured to Louis and him. When he sat down he did so in a lifeless booth. Neither Anna nor Nick was there and Harry hadn’t seen Niall seat himself. Zayn seized the opportunity to recline both in the seat and on the table. At Harry’s stare, he clued in with an _ah_ but didn’t speak until Harry had a saucer-sized bite on his collarbone and Louis was drinking Niall’s beer.

“At the bar,” he said. “Maybe Niall’s finally gotten drunk and ‘s hanging over the toilet. Otherwise I have no clue.”

Before Louis dogged him with more requests about drinking games, Harry sidled out of the booth. Kissing his boyfriend’s forehead—Louis sighed and reclined with a besotted smile—Harry excused himself and accepted the fur coat Zayn handed him.

In the faux fur he prepared a handful of cigarettes, savouring the flipped one in the pack’s midst. One of them escaped his grip and nestled into the dingy slush. He cussed in urgency, dealing the others while lighting up. Once kindled, the stick met the same fate as previous. When he stopped in the fumes of an ice-laden manhole, he realised his hands were trembling horridly.

Someone handed him a sixty-cent lighter and a pack of B&H Silver—the kind Harry rewarded himself with when finances were going steady. Often it would result in a few skipped meals to afford.

“Do you just carry these around?” Harry muttered after a skewed puff, cautiously sheltering his flare.

Nick remained silent, dusting off the pub’s intricately sawed sign with his eyes.

“Niall’s already fussed over me tonight so don’t interrogate me. Please.”

“Then what’s that?”

Harry tried shoving the fur over the gash in his head. Despite the coat’s massive girth, it slipped right back down onto his weary shoulders.

“Louis’ looking the same,” Nick said but there wasn’t any trace of accusation in his voice.

“For other reasons.”

Harry didn’t want to know what Nick was thinking with that doleful stare. The last time they had discussed matters other than cappuccino orders and extra mopping hours, the conversation had bordered topics that perked Harry’s compunction. Tonight he felt no need to bring it back up. Not when he did fine treading the deep waters on his own.

Nick pressed past the mangy rats fallen victim to the wrath of the Hound’s owner. Their nimble bodies were tucked down in the tequila-laced carbon boxes that the ginormous bin stomached. Someone had taken the liberty to carve a simple tombstone into the metal of the bin and a crass funeral hymn.

As if in defeat, Nick faced the solitary street.

“Louis doesn’t hate me,” he said. “Either that or he’s off his face right now. I certainly don’t hate him, you know, but I just… You can’t beat me up for wondering when you’re looking like this.” To quench Harry’s doubt, he added, “No one told me. You’ve never had any… wounds of sorts before, but I know what kind of guy Liam was. Subtext, a lot of it.”

The irony of it overwhelmed Harry. Liam had been anything but subtle, both as a person and as a partner. Amidst a drag, he crackled with laughter.

“Louis hit Liam, not the other way around,” he said, though the context was lost to all ears but his. “Like…” His cigarette tumbled to the fierce heels of his boots. He was cackling too hard to care, the silent kind that stuck in his throat. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of shit I can’t talk about. There’s a lot of shit you don’t want to hear.” Then he looked and said, “Ask me.”

“Does Louis hurt you in any way?” Nick asked.

Harry shook his head. From the courage bestowed in him by various narcotics and the late hour, he wanted nothing more than to holler at the skies and kick the dirt-grained snow soaking into his boots. It was a violent impulse he didn’t have time to act on but it took his breath away with more reverence than a stroke ever could.

And when he came down from the high he noticed that Nick’s eyes were soft as can be, without intent to anything, really, other than his well-being. While he normally would have been gutted by that look, he couldn’t be more grateful for the trick of friendship life had compensated him with. He deserved to be compensated.

“Don’t ask me what happened,” Harry said and gestured to the gash.

Nick shook his head. “You’re well. That’s all that matters, innit?”

Harry thought about it. Yes, maybe it was.

“Liam was shit,” he said.

“Liam was shit,” Nick agreed.

People welled out of the squished entrance. Heads knocked into pub signs. On sober legs, Niall jogged up to them from somewhere in the drab black and delivered Harry a sandwich. Non-soggy, non-mouldy. It had fresh strips of ruby-tanged bacon on it, somehow.

Disappointed at only having smoked one fag, Harry flicked it away to Niall’s distaste. Then he took the food and locked Nick in a one-armed hug.

“I’m glad Louis doesn’t hate you,” he said.

Without warning the sky burst into flames.

“Oh Lord!” came from the glowing entrance and out ran Louis with Zayn and Anna in tow. “We did _not_ miss it—I can’t _live_ with myself!”

Harry glanced at Nick’s phone.

“Relax,” he said, grains wedged between his teeth. “Ten minutes left. These are just the early birds.”

Hot fingers slid between Harry’s icy ones. In the shade of the blustering crowd, Louis kissed him. It was no different from other kisses. It still made Harry’s knees weaken.

“It has to be midnight—“

Louis caressed his cheeks. In the less than fifteen minutes Harry had been out, he had already been struck by longing for those, dainty hands. To Harry’s relief there was sharpness behind the booze-spiked cloak in Louis’ eyes.

Louis shook his head, gaze solid. “I want to do this all night.”

Zayn booed them, chanting _PDA,_ which Anna silenced with a profound hug. Louis smiled at Harry with a glimmer in his eyes that Harry couldn’t differentiate between being tipsy and affection. Both seemed like an intelligent guess, though somewhere inside he knew the answer. Paired with that soft smile and the crinkles by his eyes, that glint was pure affection,  _love_.

“I love you,” Louis murmured.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever be able to get used to him uttering that phrase so casually, like it was the most natural thing to say in the world. He ducked his head under Louis’ chin to hide his pink cheeks. Louis chuckled, hand coming up to run through his hair.

“Louis! One minute to go!” Zayn shouted.

Louis warm palm cupped Harry’s cheek, gentle fingers playing with his skin in anticipation.

“Have you ever had a New Year’s kiss?” Harry asked.

“Once, years ago. It was Zayn.”

“Liam,” Harry said, answering the question before it was even asked.

“This will be better than any kiss he’s ever given you,” Louis said.

As people chanted down from ten and fireworks began to explode with excitement, Louis pulled him closer, so they were nose to nose. As three turned to one and then zero, their lips touched, melting together without an inch of space between them. Fingers tangled in his nape, tongue licking into his mouth. The cheering and the bangs from the fireworks faded out the longer Louis kissed him with gentle tugs of his hair and soft hums coming from the back of his throat.

“Why’s no one kissing me?” Niall shouted in the distance.

As Louis parted to answer, Harry dragged him back in for another kiss by his collar. The heat from his skin warmed Harry’s core despite the fervent cold, making him press closer.

Heated kisses turned into languid, soft pecks. Louis pulled away and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then to his nose.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he said.

“Happy New Year,” Harry said back.

Soft eyes stared at him for what seemed like ages, drinking in the sight of him in his drunken glory.

“You’re so pretty,” Louis said, and Harry smiled.

“Hey, lovebirds.” Zayn leaned his arm on Harry’s shoulder and pointed to the distance. “Check out Niall.”

Harry followed his gaze. In the centre of the crowd, Niall stood making out with a girl he had never seen before. Harry’s eyebrows raised.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Louis and Zayn both shrugged.

“No idea,” Zayn said. “Some girl he had met tonight, I’m guessing. Whoever she is, he’s so getting laid tonight.”

 

❄

 

It wasn’t until the crowd thinned out towards two o’clock that Harry started sobering up. With everyone else in the group off their heads—Niall had gone down fighting, it ought to be mentioned—his subconscious must have thought it time for him to shoulder responsibility. To celebrate his newfound sanity, he had Anna ordering in a new round of appetizing shots, of which he downed three quarters. Louis sulked for a few minutes when realising none of the drinks would be spent on body shots before Zayn distracted him.

It seemed fitting, Harry thought, to celebrate the end of all things with a bang, a self-destructive summary of his past. As far as he was concerned, everyone in the pub agreed. Welcoming the uncertain future was a task for the faraway morning.

No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t remember not kissing Louis. Hidden away in their booth, numerous attempts had been made by Louis to remove all shirts and some trousers. Harry was his eager accomplice until the barman shot them a dirty look akin the one Harry had seen him give other intimate customers. Once their garments returned to their rightful place, they could snog and grind best they want, undisturbed.

The sting of bourbon Louis had wiled Harry into drinking seared his entire mouth, although it had been spit out upon impact. Louis sucked the taste off his tongue. Bold eyes unapologetically subduing him. Puffed mouth murmuring of how jittery he was without paying mind to the causes.

Louis came short of breath, hands nested on Harry’s bare shoulders, dug below the baring flannel. And Harry found himself euphoric just by the thought that they had shared bed for weeks now, that he had the choice to brush the ashen hair from Louis’ forehead each morning and cook him shitty breakfast on a functioning stove.

Something shy came over Louis and he worried his lip, sharpening up when Harry groped him, and suddenly he was the brazen man Harry had taken to the pub stalls.

With an arcane smile, Louis asked, “Can you fuck me when we get back?”

Although knowing it would spike memories he’d rather forget, Harry suggested they claim the toilet again, only dully aware of his misfortunate retching earlier.

Louis stopped kissing him for a bit, his eyes impervious with a loose thought. When he caught it, he shook his head and whispered, “Zayn and Anna are in there somewhere. Maybe Niall as well.” Then his hands slid from Harry’s collar and jaw to his jeans. “I’ll be so quiet. Let’s do it here.”

Louis couldn’t be quiet. They were both aware of that, even now. He was a loud person; whether cooking—in groups. It wasn’t that he was constantly talking or interrupting, but everything about him seemed amplified in comparison to his surroundings. And Harry enjoyed watching him, silent. Moreover, it was certain Louis would be loud when all his filters had been whittled away by alcohol.

Harry weighed the options, trying to listen to whatever sense he had as well as his groin, a decision not made easier by Louis’ intermittent grinding and whispered suggestions.

By the time he made a coherent opinion, Louis had already unbuckled his jeans.

“Lou—“

Louis shook his head, more to cut himself off than Harry, and said, “I love to hear you say that. I love you.”

One of Harry’s feeble hands popped knots in Louis’ back as it swept. “There are people here.” As if it would stop the palm assessing his crotch.

It pieced something together with Louis, though, for he withdrew the palm and placed it before his mouth. “I’m so _rude_. I didn’t think any of them would want to join!” And suddenly an insufferably smug expression fell over his face. “I know one of your kinks, now. Orgies.”

“Only if you bottom.”

Louis agreed without hassle. Whether to ease building pressure or be theatrical, he tossed his head back while his fingers closed over clavicles and shoulder blades. Harry’s arousal skyrocketed.

“Here,” he urged, slur tainting his words—not that Louis minded. He repeated, “Here.”

Tongue and teeth lashed out on his sore skin. He was vaguely aware of their gentle pressure, but this way it felt like poison-spiked needles. At some point, Louis must have. Harry was too caught up in trying to pick apart the scent that he didn’t notice Zayn slipping into the booth with them.

“Be gentle with my boy, Harry,” he said. “ _Gosh,_ you two need some waters. We’ll get some waters to the table.”

Only when Anna joined them did Louis slide from Harry’s lap, exposing an unzipped crotch with a broad grin to match Harry’s expression.

Louis said, “We’re having an orgy back at the flat. You’re not invited.”

“They can come,” Harry interjected. “You’re bottoming.” Then he faced forward. “He’s bottoming.”

Zayn muttered something about how the walls would rattle because Louis was _loud_ while Anna got up for a split second and reconvened with Niall. The realisation that they were now joined by others made Louis duck over and tidy Harry’s jeans and crumpled flannel. The phantom of his touch lingered long after he had withdrawn from Harry.

Between seeking attention from his boyfriend and catching up with the current topic in the pulsating conversation, he wanted to get fucked up. So he accepted the pints of water delivered to the table. He tried to participate. Instead of giving in to exhaustion he let Louis drape around him, lips burning with want, groin catching interest whenever Louis leaned over him to reach the table, his heady breath fanning over rising hairs on Harry’s neck. 

By the time Nick plopped down at the table, across from them, sobriety had taken the upper hand and its grip was far more steadfast than other times. The pain, in the tidal waves of melancholic regret and dismay that came with being aware, was repugnant but greeted after soaring so high for so long. It wouldn’t be the end of the year if there wasn’t any scruple, Harry decided.

At first it was silent, everyone treading on careful territory. Surprisingly, it was Nick to speak first. And so he asked, “Any New Year’s resolutions?”

Louis scoffed, giving an eye roll, but Harry caught the side eyes he gave him. He saw the curiosity shining beside the “I don’t give a shit” façade he projected.

Under his breath, for Louis only, he whispered, “To be happy,” but to Nick he said, “To stop smoking. Baby doesn’t like the smell.”

Nick pursed his lips, nodding. “Best of luck to you.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmured, but Harry could see the thought written across his features. Carefully, he reached for Louis’ hand and their fingers intertwined under the table. Immediately he felt a twinge of guilt, dragging Louis into the addicting feeling of affection when he was this confusing, a mind fuck like Liam said, but he was unable to will himself to let go.

Louis gave his hand a squeeze.

Nick’s lips parted like he was about to speak, but he was interrupted by Niall drunkenly barrelling into the booth, the girl from earlier on his arm.

“Hello, friends,” he greeted, a bit too loudly for Harry’s liking. “This is Bonnie. We met an hour ago and I have since learned that she is a hair dresser and makeup artist and that she is really hot. She is joining us for drinks.”

Louis snorted as Bonnie excused herself with a gracious smile. “How drunk are you?”

Niall reached out and patted him on the head. “Drunk on life, my friend. That’s the only kind of drunk I ever am.”

Once he noticed Bonnie’s departure—and it took a while—he stole from the water in Harry’s hand, delving deeper into his seat.

Zayn squirmed in the silence that followed. Harry had never witnessed him squirm, and from the way Louis quieted down, he could tell it was a rare occurrence. Clasping his hands on the table, then shuffling them into his lap where they unknotted, Zayn said, “I promise- Is that how you say it? My resolution is to quit my job.”

When no one said anything, his hands peeked up on the table top again. “It’s the only work I’ve ever done. For once, I want to do something on my own terms. Preferably something my parents didn’t choose.”

On his own terms. Isn’t that what Louis had said?

Louis had a sombre look on his face. They must have discussed this back and forth for a while. Anna wore the same look. In brighter shades, but the graveness of it, the finality, remained unchanged.

She said, “I want to get a promotion. That would be something. And then we can remodel the bathroom and fix up the balcony.”

Louis declared a hushed toast, breathing an _“amen”_ before downing his glass. He held both hands up—Harry nearly slipping off his flank—and closed his eyes. “This year I’m going to be healthy.”

Zayn’s fist hit the table. High-pitched, he soon regained control of his voice.

“That sucks. I’m so _disappointed_ in you. Here we are, all of us, chasing our dreams this year—“

Niall proclaimed, “I’m going to bang _so many_ hot people this year,” while pivoting around in search for Bonnie.

“—and you go and pull the ‘healthy’ bullshit. All these years of shite and you promise yourself _health,_ and for the umpteenth time at that! It doesn’t _work,_ Louis.”

Mouth shaping into a cool smile, Louis leaned back. He wasn’t sitting on the clammy leather seat as much as he was reclining on a throne, and Harry had to stare at him in wonder of his grace. Because Louis was graceful. And he was beautiful when he was at peace. Even now, with resolutions and future plans crumpling his face, he was handsome.

Dragging himself up above the table’s edge, Niall shoved a finger into the tangle of Harry and Louis next to him.

“Harry wants to stop smoking,” Nick filled in.

Niall cackled. Then he covered his mouth in apology and nodded to himself, said something inaudible in a crease of his lips. Harry took no offense.

Niall’s finger moved to Nick.

“Yeah, mate,” Anna said. “What’s your plan?”

A long sigh hissed from Nick’s throat. “I’m getting a dog. Some company, yeah?”

“That’s wise,” Niall said, and the flask of water in his hand had somehow turned into lager, empty. “If my landlord wasn’t such a wanker there would be a farm in my flat. I’d have sheep dogs and potatoes…”

For once, Harry enjoyed whatever Niall blathered about, sunken into leather and a hot body, so when Louis’ swollen lips brushed his ear, he seized up in shock. The cologne was all around, under the sear of fireworks in Louis’ breath.

“I’ll stay up all night for you,” Louis said, an exhale. “Not being able to make you happy is… I understand that. It’s not about me. Or you. But we can work something out—something to make it more bearable. And maybe someday, it’ll hurt less. And I’ll be here when that day comes.” Louis stopped, tasting the words. ”That’s my promise. You have me.”

Harry thought about how, one day, Zayn and Anna would be married, just like Liam and his girl were married, and Niall would move back to Ireland since he couldn’t live with the weight of his brother, and Nick would have the kids he’d always talked about, and they would all leave London before old age and enshrine the countryside with city-slang and unintentionally pejorative gestures.

Louis would go abroad and find the freedom he sought and when he came back he would buy a cabin in rural woods and vast fields where he would live with Harry, and they would borrow Anna’s grubby Toyota, more copper than hearty fire red, to reach nearest village and shop groceries and local textiles, and Louis would read to him in bed in the glow of a naked bulb because Harry would like that and he would still be depressed for “Styles” wasn’t synonymous with “carefree” and “loving” like it was with “annihilation” and “theft”.

Harry thought about how all these things were imminent. Paths had been staked out for them since birth and they were only now becoming aware of them and how they were unavoidable. As their paths veered, they would part, or they would twine together with no chance of choice.

Just like everything else in his life, he hated to know how little control he had of his choices, of where he was to end up, despite it all.

To Louis, he said, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let us know your thoughts about the chapter--the resolutions, confessions, future plans, predictions about the ending? We're forever grateful for your support for IGCTD. Please share it if you've enjoyed the ride and we'll be back with the finale in no time x


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. Just a short epilogue after this one. Thank you for reading and enjoy this last official chapter! xx

It happened halfway through January.

For some reason, Louis dove into 2016 thinking it would hold some grand, immediate transformation. That he, like Zayn would break free from chains he had carried for years, be a revolutionary, and instead tie knots elsewhere.

The contrary happened. First in small gestures, then all at once.

Harry spent fewer and fewer nights outside his flat, whether as a result of Stockholm Syndrome tinged withdrawal or the sudden rise in temperature, which made the hollowness of the walls and ceiling less hollow. In one way, Louis sympathised with that. As he had said before, the flat wouldn't be one to shun in wake of winter, when heat transpired the floorboards and there was no need for moth-eaten blankets. Perhaps Harry was just more well-adjusted to the climate.

Much like her caretaker, Baby did not once seem keen on parting with the two-room. Each time Harry aimed to visit Louis and Zayn for longer periods he brought Baby with him. Each time, she scurried up and down the halls, howling. Either that or she scratched doors and inherited Cadwallader furniture.

Where she now wagged her tail deliberately, thudding over wood, it looked as if she awaited Louis' awakening to pounce on him. After an accident involving Zayn's birthday cake, her whiskers retained a firstly marron then rusty nuance, obliterating the otherwise striated coal and snow.

Louis rose. Packed in sweats and a hoodie, he didn't notice the absence of warmth until he opened his eyes. Shamefully freezing, Harry had curled up below, parts of him tucked under Louis, parts of him out in the arctic sphere of the kitchen. Now, no one could tell he had ever lain down.

Confirming what Louis already guessed, Baby blinked, then sauntered into the living room. Rising and flattening his creased clothes, Louis caught a glimpse of paper wedged below the windsill. He left it be and followed the feline.

Only when he saw the meagre silhouette pervading the window did he pick up on the familiarity of the situation.

Harry was withdrawing. Last time they played these roles, they had fucked wordlessly and come morning Harry had smoked half a pack and Louis had bounded off to work.

A murmur, intended for no living creature, in Harry's deadpan voice: “I'm losing myself.”

With Baby approaching, Harry extended a lenient hand. His grime-netted hair gracelessly soiled his tee, barely frayed unlike other garments of his, and hid his red-dappled complexion.There was something vitriol about the shadows around him, like a sphere allowing only the flat's inhabitants inside. Therefore, Louis stayed in the doorway.

Drapes of smoke kept even Baby at a distance. Next to Harry poised the ashtray Zayn had given him, graven with smouldering cigarettes.

Lifting his head from the cat, he spotted Louis. Blood clotted his lower lip, black as tar. Louis decided not to remark it.

Harry's voice was a jaded whisper when he said, “Morning.”

Baby howled.

“Have you eaten breakfast?” Louis asked.

He hadn't seen any dirty dishes, not in the sink nor on the living room furnishing. Doubtfully, there could be a plate in the bathtub, or it had gone unnoticed beside the mattress. Harry would always wake up first, and sometimes when he woke up first, he would sit by the bed to eat.

But Harry shook his head, elaborating, “I don't have an appetite.”

Whilst Louis' eyes travelled down his protruding joints, Harry drew a blanket over himself.

“I can cook,” Louis said. “Or go shopping for something.”

Harry had turned back to the window. A single smoke ringlet dripped across the window from the most recent cigarette demise.

Stepping over Baby, Louis forced his way through the sphere. Startled, Harry looked up at him, toothpick sprouting between his teeth. It was something he had tried to make habit, but while he was biting and picking Louis still found him with a pack in hand. Red coated the tip of the pick.

Up-close, Harry's face was somehow blotchier than in the stark winter.

Louis leaned in to kiss his scalp.

The ashtray tipped over the edge, barelling ash across the floorboards as Harry jerked back without warning. The toothpick vanished into the street below. Treacherously the glass tray spun on the wood before subduing, unharmed. Chips of wood or of biscuits skittered from the cocooning blanket Harry now shed slightly. His eyes were two drab pits harrowing Louis.

At once, Louis was invaded by thoughts he hadn't the courage to deal with previously. _Do you want me to stay? Have you ever been to counselling? Are you seeing someone now? Does anyone know? Should I leave?_

There was no telling whether Harry simply needed space or whether he was silently clawing walls and flesh behind those abysmal eyes. The eyes that always had Louis on his knees.

As if sensing Louis was close to a conclusion, Harry laid a hand on his neck, blanket only hanging off his knobbed knees. His touch offered a kind of heat akin the one from a stinting radiator. Below old lotion, the skin curdled. In a move just as sudden and indecisive, he ducked his head, hand lingering.

At first Louis didn't hear the words where they strained against night-starved stomachs. Then, “I'm just tired.”

It was more Harry grappling with his throat for stability than it was a loving gesture. Harry had been “just tired” for most of January.

Louis held him without restraint. He said, “There's a load of fruit and veggies in the fridge. I brought the ones Zayn didn't want, so... Smoothies? Or crepes. I know how to make a wicked last-minute burrito that doesn't even require an oven.”

Naively he hoped Harry would grace him with a snort. All goosebumps and stress-induced acne, Harry seized up, with nails that were no longer blunt, but as awl-like as Baby's where they fixed Louis' upper back.

“Sleep—I should...”

Clearing his throat unsuccessfully, Harry's part chokehold, part unyielding frustration, disengaged. Once more he shielded himself with the nubbly textile. It was less riven than him. They had used it as a duvet during the most piously chilling broach of winter. Many of its newer tears were from biting.

For a moment, Louis didn't know if he should chase him anymore. _It was easier,_ he thought, _when you were just the bloke at Mary's, mopping and spilling lattes, one of Niall's acquaintances. Nameless. Impersonal._

Then he caught a shred of exposed flesh and its circular burn while Harry stared at him. He thought about them in his bed, paging through his albums joint with all the accidental brushing and stolen glances he had been promised by medial forces as a child. It was intoxicating, to love.

Acquiring minor objection, Louis sealed an arm around his boyfriend, mouth itching to comfort him in the only way Harry would readily accept. Instead Louis turned his gaze to the dead and hungover outside world.

Voice jaggedly cleared of anything passing as faux or insincere, he said, “You're good enough. You matter so much to me—to Zayn. He almost loves you more than I do. No matter how many e-cigarettes I smoke with him he'll always prefer your company.”

Harry inhaled. Exhaled. Then he busied himself pivoting the cigarettes and dusting ash from his fingertips and said, “Can you leave?”

Just like that, the strings of childhood naivety were severed by the sort of inescapable reality Harry brought. It wasn't a truthful reality. Louis didn't believe it to be. But it held the same hope-obliterating iron fist as reality often did.

Nothing but phamplet-like phrases crammed Louis' head, words stale even for his mouth, which meant Harry would never swallow them. He just _wanted_ without knowledge of how to proceed. There was no putting himself in Harry's shoes. They hadn't been made to walk in.

“If you want me to leave,” he said, doubting the road he was heading down, “I'll go. But I'll be just as happy staying here.” It was insufficient. Harry just ducked his head, ashen palms effete on the windowpanes. Heat flared out from the skin, briefly contouring the hand. Louis spoke with a knot in his voice, “You're not a burden—“

“I want you to leave,” Harry confirmed, at last, trembling against his body.

Louis was out of options.

Disregarding the ache within—once creeping, now abundant—he unmoored his arms, leaving Harry a stub on the windowsill. Baby coiled on the tiny pile of clothes in the couch corner, lime slits flaring. The pipes in the bathroom sing-sang mockery as he left.

 

❄

 

It went a while of restive exploration in the more harrowing quarters adjacent to Harry's block before Louis set his mind on a specific location that wasn't slush and putrid bins. By then, morning had since long waned into more timeless grey. There were unanswered texts. There was a leak in his shoes. There were grizzling crows in the nooks of buildings. All came together in the botched man that was Louis Tomlinson.

Louis went home. Whether to find Anna or Zayn or to be alone, it didn't matter. Before his mind could settle on a preferable scenario, he kicked off his boots in the unusually shoeless hallway and its substantial lack of any season's outerwear. Clipped guides the size of one's palm, always fronted by an ambitiously smiling blonde, rested on the coffee table in a collage fulfilled by auburn-edged newspaper scraps. Amidst it was Zayn. Somehow he sat on the couch while also sitting on the faraway end of the skimpy table. It stayed loyally quiet.

At the very least, Zayn acknowledged Louis' presence with a pause in the muttered curse words and phrases. At most, he spared a glance. A pen nested in the havoc that was his hair. An old Nick Cave track set the tone from somewhere deeper into the guts of the flat.

“Harry kicked me out,” Louis said.

Zayn hummed in dissatisfaction, although Louis thought it to be directed more at the puzzle of partway crimped paper planes and plainly balled-up manuscripts on the floor and overhead. Assessing two kinds of papers—one which the sterile noon light burst through, one which was prickly solid, at worst whitened cardboard—he unwittingly worried one of the table's furrows. It was like he and Anna slouched over it once more, IKEA-catalogue folded and recitent.

Louis ransacked his brain. “He's... He's not doing well. I don't know how to be there for him, Zayn.”

“Blows,” Zayn said, eyes roving hotly across another crumpled paper plowing through the air.

Sudden ire flared in Louis' throat.

“Yes,” he said. “It does.”

Two neatly scrawled-on papers. “Which reads best? The _'Beloved Agent, as your client it is to me compulsory to announce any longer periods of absence I may take, and therefore I am now most gratefully informing of my resigning in the business'_ or the _'Up the arse, fashion'_?”

Both talking to Zayn now and talking to Harry on the regular was like conversing with a wall. Only with Harry, Louis knew there were severe underlying issues. A diagnosis. Grave trust issues. Zayn was not affected by either of these, hadn't been during the near decade Louis had known him.

Still bestowed with some sense, Zayn withdrew the scripts. He scrapped both. Cardboard and paper in grains between the cushions.

With Zayn, Louis never had to think about how to phrase himself. So he said, “I'm afraid he'll have another stroke. Statistics point to that—every study out there. I looked it up.”

“That would certainly...” Zayn trailed off, scrapping another idea which glowed with profanity and its doodled cousins. “Certainly...” He started anew. Cardboard and paper flattened and scribbled upon. Margins filled and smeared.

Tiny streaks of the anger had slowly ripped apart inside Louis until that point. Crackling, severing like the parts of a hijacked plane en route below sea. Accumulating.

“If you could stop being a conceited drama queen,” he said, “for just a moment, we could focus on an _actual_ issue.”

Zayn's eyes ran across the text without processing. “'Conceited'. That's what you call it.”

“Isn't that the way it always has been? _Your_ interests. _Your_ friends. Can't you see this is important to me? Doesn't it matter to you or are you just content with being a prick?”

Silence. Reverberating, crackling.

“If he hurts—“

“Just because you're dating him,” Zayn said, bolting from the table, papers soaring, “doesn't make you the almighty, one-in-a-billion solution, all right!” A stack of incomplete but non-scrapped ideas hurled towards the wall, gusting Louis' feet. “Just because he's loved or cared for or the fact that he has a decent flat doesn't kick him out of depression. Just because you're dating or _whatever_ doesn't make you his saviour, so spare me. Spare him.”

The truth didn't make Louis flinch. Zayn's tone did, though.

“I'm not an antidote,” he agreed, biting back numerous shallow insults and invectives. “I just want to know how I should support him, when to leave him alone and when to force-feed him breakfast.”

Zayn sighed. One of his hands hovered across the ambitiously grinning guides and his own meek attempts at reconstructing them.

“This means everything for my future. Don't belittle me.”

Louis apologised.

Grabbing his forehead, Zayn contemplated something that could alter the cadence of the entire conversation. Louis could tell by the complete lack of awareness he demonstrated. Unlike his flatmates, Zayn always kept track of his surroundings—a skill honed by years and years of stalking paparazzi, of being one step ahead.

When Zayn's hand left his face in fading blotches, the awareness only functioned at half. He said, “Some time ago, Harry told me he hated himself, which I suppose I can say without going behind his back, now.”

Louis thought about Harry in the window, like a lone tree in the wake of a nuclear explosion; about what Harry told himself when no one else was around, to Baby's silky ears. “Have you... _talked_ anything, at all?”

“He isn't much of a talker.”

Poignant-mangled smile replacing his grimace of stress, Louis said, “Yeah. He's hurt himself. Still is, with the way he drinks, and that.”

Zayn cussed, several syllables compressing to grit, flaring up anew.

“Jesus, how could you leave? Call him. Call him now.”

“I've tried—I'm trying, he isn't picking up. You don't have to tell me I'm a screw-up, I do that perfectly fine on my own.”

Zayn apologised, not as verbally as Louis, but equally sincere.

Louis started: “I don't think... Not necessarily that we're going behind his back but...” He groused. “I just want to talk to him and he's shutting me out.” He waved a hand. “It's not his fault—I'm not blaming him. But it terrifies me. That he’s going to leave.” Louis paused. “I don’t—I don’t know what that’d mean for my life. I’ve been trying to build one with him, you know I have. It’s tough when he doesn’t reciprocate the same sentiments all the time but I was trying. I’m getting older. I want something like you and Anna have. Something stable, something real.”

“Maybe Harry isn’t the one for that fantasy, Louis. Maybe he’s not the person that can fulfil those dreams for you, and that’s okay,” Zayn said.

“But I want him to be.”

“You wanted the same with me at first, remember? Because we were close and you thought you could picture it, picture us, long-term, but then you realized you couldn’t, and that I never did. We were for fun, to pass time, and we both knew that, even if it took you a bit longer to get there. And I get that it’s different with Harry, because you love him and you’ve fought to be his, for him to be yours, but maybe it’s the same sort of deal as it was with us. Just because something doesn’t last for long doesn’t mean it wasn’t good.”

Louis cracked a small smile. “You say some good things when you ramble, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Zayn smiled, too. Even laughed a little. “I don’t need your approval, everyone already knows that I’m philosophical.”

Louis extended his arms. After a moment Zayn stepped into them and wrapped him up in a hug. The “I’m sorry’s” went unsaid, but they were there in the warm embrace of the hug.

“So we’re good?” Zayn asked after a few moments, gently pulling away.

Louis nodded, though there was still a remaining layer of sadness and frustration etched into his features.

“Maybe he’s at work,” Zayn said.

“You’re right. I should go see him.” Louis disappeared from the room and slipped his boots on, loosely tying the laces. Then he paused and returned to Zayn, hovering over him.

Zayn looked up. “I thought you left already.”

Louis shook his head. “I thought… Do you need help with... that?”

Both examined the debris of speeches and guides over floor and tables. One thicker folder had pivoted into the cup of washy coffee Zayn had let gone cold. The construction teetered maliciously.

“No, I’ll be okay,” Zayn said, then admitted, “Anna will be home in a few hours, I’ll be all right. Go to Mary’s, go find him. Make it right.”

Louis’ eyes swam with tears, but he blinked them away. Crying wouldn’t do him good, wouldn’t do Harry good.

Silently, he left the flat, leaving Zayn to write his speech in solitude. He trekked the dusty streets, kicking up slush and heavy snow as he walked. He hadn’t bothered to grab his mittens or his hat. He shivered, just covered by his winter coat that had broken buttons at the top. Cold wind nipped at his neck and chest, and he suddenly wished he had grabbed Zayn’s coat instead of his own.

Mary’s was deserted when he arrived, which made the sensation of _coffee house_ all the more real. The tinkling of cutlery and low chatter was replaced by eclectic pop, its electronic touch normally repelling customers and employees alike. Louis couldn't conclude if it had begun to play to shoo clients away or because they had been already shooed away. Niall sat at the cash, seemingly the only employee in sight. Head bopping subtly to the rhythm. Hands working at something unseeable from Louis' vintage point.

Louis took a seat at the counter and groaned. Someone had spilled soda all over; Niall was wiping it passionately, sticky tentacles slowly withdrawing while he muttered about how one would order _soda_ instead of actual _coffee_ in a _coffeeshop_. Even Louis tasted the woozily sweet scent.

Upon the heavy thud of man hitting chair, Niall chuckled. “Nice to see you, too.”

Louis didn’t laugh.

“Where’s Harry?”

Just like that, Niall sobered up. His happy expression became serious, and Louis wondered if he was that obvious, if he looked as confused and love sick as he felt.

“He’s not here,” Niall said, as if it was a hard, obvious truth, which, Louis reckoned, it was. “He called in sick today, said he had a stomach ache. I didn’t take it too seriously, he’s always calling in sick. I thought he’d be with you today.”

“He kicked me out,” Louis said. “I’m—I think something is wrong.”

“He’s Harry. He does things like that.”

“This felt different. I don’t know how to explain it. I know he’s sad, and I know he’s been sad for a long time and that I’m not magical, that I can’t fix him because people aren’t broken. They don’t get fixed, they heal, grow. But we’ve been doing better lately, _he’s_ been doing better lately, and suddenly he crashed. He told me that he loved me, Niall, and today he sent me away like he never even said it.”

Niall sighed. He was quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against the counter. Finally, he spoke.

“We’re not going to jump to conclusions. Depression works in funny ways. He’s happy with you, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy in general, if that makes sense. You might not have done anything, Louis. Maybe he’s just overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to deal with it and you being there was too much because he’s been dealing with this on his own for so long now.”

This was something Louis knew but had not come to terms with. He wondered how it could be that everyone followed a secret handbook labelled _“How to read Harry Styles and be a Decent Person”_ which had yet to make its way into Louis' possession, and that he couldn't seem to get ahold of it.

He said, “I want to make it better.”

“You can’t. You know you can’t. All you can do is be there for him, and right now he needs you to do that by giving him space.”

Louis dropped his head on the counter. He blinked hard. He wasn’t going to cry. Not now.

“I don’t want to talk anymore. Can you just get me a coffee?” he asked.

Gently, Niall ruffled his hair. Beneath everything, Louis liked to think Niall was happy he hadn't ordered another soda. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Pop kept pumping as he retreated to a window table. All had been wiped down but this particular seat both had a view of the entrance and the staff door stewed to the back. He did not shed his outerwear. He stayed clear of resting palms and knuckles on his steaming beverage. If anything, the pain kept him focused.

It truly was deserted, Mary's Corner. And the streets outside. Curtains shivered in cleaned-out windows scatchily clad with ocassional tinsel. Louis pondered what day it was. Tuesday? Harry worked Tuesdays, afternoons. Wednesdays and Thursdays were full days, double-shifts often. Or, often, calling in sick, having peers cover for him.

Louis frowned with the sheer force of the thought; how could Harry not see that he was surrounded by people who would fight for him?

Or maybe it was the fact that he _did_ see and felt he could not reciprocate.

Louis downed his coffee.

A flurry of dyed hair and apron swivelled by the corner of his eye. No curls, he registered, were being held back by frayed blue bandanas. The fingers handling a mop were not chapped to a notable extent.

Before Louis decided what to do about the situation, Nick abandoned his task and sat to face him in the opposite chair. This time, both were sober, and alone. In spite of himself, Louis had to think about the last time Harry had withdrawn this way, and he could tell Nick ventured into similar waters by gauging the increasing wrinkles in his forehead.

Louis wanted to say, _you know I have to ask_ , but he could see that Nick already understood this, so he just said, “If you're up to anything with Harry, or vice versa, please stop. It's stressful for everyone involved.”

Nick wanted to say, _we talked about this at New Years, let's not to a re-cap_ , but Louis already knew this, so he just said, “Would it be easier if we fucked? A clear cause?”

And Louis slumped in his chair. It had been a final string of incendiary hope, filthy in head and heart. He hated despised the piece of him miserably hoping for a repeat. The aftershocks from before still rang clear whenever Harry and Nick were in the same room, whenever Harry's days spiralled into black, whenever Harry looked at Louis.

“Guess you heard Niall and I,” Louis said, for the café was very quiet and very small.

Nick affirmed this with a nod.

It suggested that now when Louis had opened the gate to his flaming curiosity, the problem-solver in him, there was no shutting it. He asked, “Do you know if Harry's seeing someone about his depression?”

Nick started with the obvious, the same place in which Zayn had begun, by saying, “Depression isn't something he talks about. Half the time I'm not sure he's even aware that it's there.” He sloshed ice in a frappé Louis hadn't noticed – Niall must have served two. “No, not that I know of. He's only let me in on the fast-forward version of his backstory.”

Louis tried to recall if he had ever seen a slip of paper on Harry's manky living room table, an intimidating official logo burned into the sheet. If his bathroom cabinet had been stocked with funny little bottles. Prozac. Zoloft. Adderall. Prescriptions stuffed in unused drawers, between floorboards he knew held tight, consumed by a doctor's muzzy handwriting with equally muzzy instructions.

Five years. No one to reach out to.

Louis taught himself to breathe again. Steady, smooth, collected.

_Where was Harry?_

“I brought by take-out during lunch break,” Nick said. “No one was in the flat then. Niall has tried his cell all afternoon but it's radio silence.”

Louis opened eyes he hadn't been aware were closed. “Thank you.”

“If it helps, I think you're good for him. Heard you messed up Liam.”

Liam Payne, the ghoul that had spun his net in the backdrop until it pulled taut and warped everything. Louis suspected he hadn't been the only one to percieve Liam that way; step one: stillness, step two: chaos. No interlude.

Louis saw the shimmer of blood against the melancholically green curtains, sprinkled across the flouriscence.

He stole from Nick's frappé then nodded meaningfully, smiling thinly. “You would have been a better ex.”

Nick mimcked the smile. Then he stood up. An impressive amount of two costumers had entered the shop.

“Stay as long as you'd like. Let me know if he's all right.”

Louis did stay.

Until the heat rotted away to marrow-jarring bites from failing radiators. Until he caved and ordered another cuppa. Until Nick had mopped the floor thrice the necessary amount, killing time. Until his phone shook with the tenth unreceived call to Harry.

Until—

“Ah, closing time.” Niall kept the conversation short as Louis steeled himself for a night of idle pursuit in the cold. Niall wore an apologetic grimace. “Sorry mate.”

Thanking, Louis scooted his chair in, then let the darkness take him. Already he missed the quaint café – unfit music and overdue Christmas décor included. He wasn't alone on the streets.

Each cloud of tar and nicotine he inhaled caused tremors. Every time he looked from the pavement – only smoking club-goers out for a break. It spurred him on, the thought that the mere ghost of Harry evoked these sensations in him.

It crossed Louis' mind that he was starting to obsess, then he remembered that he was not the only one to search for Harry Styles.

But this was London, and Harry was a speck of dirt like the rest of them.

It was snowing. No hail but plenty of hardened slush. By the time Louis' fingers numbed it had amassed all over, the chaotic white. Cars whisked it aside. Pedestrians cursed it.

And there was Harry, walking home, gloveless fingers poising a cigarette. Overhead light cut hollows where his eyes rested.

Relief hit first. In breath regulating; in muscles unknotting; in flat soles careening across ice.

Louis gathered him up in his arms. The overwhelming sensation of _Harry_ consumed him. Sweet smoke, fire, strips of Louis' cologne sewn into his clothing, gravelled by urban night, dampness of grimy clothes in harsh atmosphere, nubbly coat scratching skin like stubble.

There was no winter, just this, just this.

Harry's coat collar swelled with unspoken promises, breathed, lips curled. And yet further, below fabrics; icy nose against icy throat; a pulse beneath bruises, screaming _I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive._

Hands splayed in Louis' hair, over his breastbone. The cigarette fizzed out in the gutter. There was just Harry's eyes – dull, curious, dreading. Just his fingers across Louis' jaw, tender icicles melting on ruddy cheeks.

Louis' words came out a whisper. “Where are we?”

“My area. Somewhere.”

_Where have you been?_

Louis could laugh. He didn't. Despite it all there was something severely wrong with the situation. It was something in Harry's stance.

_Talk to me talk to me talk to me_

It must have showed, for Harry graced his cheekbones once more, icicles winding up his hair.

“Starting the...” Harry forced something down, eyes locking on to the brushing movement, cautious. “Being with you on New Years. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have started the year with you. Comitting.”

Dread. Louis shook his head. “No, Harry. I want this with you. I want all of it.”

This was for the long run, Louis knew it. There was no middleground. It was either on or off. He _wanted_ so much.

Harry worried his lip. Old scabs tore open, flurries of red erupting, slowly, an impending train wreck. His fingers left Louis.

“I think,” he said, “That's why. It won't work. This won't work. No matter how much I want it to. I do want it, believe me, but I _can't_.”

“It _has_ worked. We _make_ it work.” The smile broke forward, incredulous. “I— We're in love.”

Harry's expression became wounded, a _Don't you see?_

“Louis—“

“No. You can't say my name if you're going to do this. It'll kill me.”

“I'm... I've been so _happy._ It's been— It's been easy, in way. And it makes me so fucking nervous.” Tears freckled his face, as if they had always been there. There was nothing poetical about his sadness. “I'm scared shitless, Louis. No, don't—“ He backstepped, out of reach. All Louis wanted to do was _reach_. “It won't go away. I'm not an idiot. And I just... I just want to _control_ it for once and I can't... I can't do that if I'm constantly worrying about the next fall. There will always be shittier times, okay?”

Another failed cigarette. The sharp lines in Harry's forehead could have parted seas. He didn't meet Louis' eyes as he started anew.

He spoke quietly, deliberately for his own sake, sweeps of his free hand. “I love you. I don't want to let you down.”

Lighters flicked, cigarettes wedged between teeth. Harry's gaze dropped low as he lit up, hands and voice trembling equally. If Louis had learnt anything about Harry Styles it was that he only chainsmoked under distress – which was to say most of the time. It was also this: never did he waste a cigarette. This one he gnawed and flicked off before it had even caught flames.

Louis yearned to reach out. He settled for a quiet, fumbling:

“Harry.”

Harry hissed, “Why do you get to say that? How is that fair?”

When the next cigarette refused to light he pelted it to the brick wall in roped curses. Eyes dismembering the pavement, he exhaled on his raw knuckles, sheltering the flame beneath. His hands dropped to his side.

“I thought you needed more than a note,” he said, then turned on his heel. The snow ate up his shrinking form. Somewhere in the billows his coat flapped a wave goodbye.

Louis thought about all the times he should have left Harry alone. Let him breathe. Let him process. Let him mourn. All the times he'd forcefully coax clues from employees at Mary's, or pondered if he should meet up with Harry's landlord, or question the neighbours, only to be told to leave it.

This was not one of those times.

Louis ran. He shouted something, then did it again, again, until he realised it was just a single word.

 _Harry._ It was all that mattered.

He ran across rubbed-blazed backroads. Behind a Subway reeking of oregano, dogding two-wheeled traffic and chafing against wet brick walls. Over pools of hijacked gasoline spilt in the old snow.

Of course, Harry hadn't gotten far. With every other shiver came a dip in his gait, a hand briefly to walls or bins to keep upright. When Louis reached him he no longer smelled of cologne. Arms winding and hands tugging, Louis tasted the minty nicotine gum in his stuttering breath.

“Don't leave,” Louis said.

He didn't need anything back. Not now. He just needed Harry to stay.

He said, “Don't leave. I love you. You're my... You're _everything._ Don't go.” Then, just his name. Just _Harry, Harry, Harry,_ until they no longer struggled but just stood lax, Louis panting and Harry weeping into his shoulder.

“Don't leave.” Louis found his voice bloated the way Harry's was. He shook his head again, inhaling, always breathing him in. “Don't leave, baby. I love you.”

“I don't want to.”

“Then stay. Please stay.”

And Louis could feel it – the moment Harry stopped running, the moment everything had been worth it.

There they remained. A product of clusterfuck families and bad decisions. But Louis reckoned, if Harry was one of those decisions, it wasn't one he would regret.

 


	21. Epilogue

It was a mild summer, less like the one Louis had predicted and everything substandard that the weather forecast had failed to acknowledge. Rains frequented the city as often as the living room curtains changed. The latter was heavily but not solely caused by Anna – Harry had had the judging voice in many of the choices. Not that he understood why. He had never lived there, and now he never would.

To emphasise the thought he knocked his heels to the carboard box he sat on. Anna had hid in it until Zayn dragged her off to the moving truck once more, all nails and promises of intimate gestures. Anna had said something along the lines of, _“Don't ever get engaged, Styles. Don't. Do. It.”_ To this, Louis had said, _“Perhaps we should just stay put here, eating your food, the both of us. I'm sure we can still tear the lease.”_ This had made Zayn all the more insistent.

Now Louis sat across the table, on a box of his own. His was labelled _Tomlinson's Damaged Goods (#2)_. It had a disclaimer written by its namesake, namely describing its contents as mundanely as possible for lessened effect. Zayn had added an _“+ dildo”,_ which Harry was uncertain if Louis had noticed or not.

And, wasn't that technically Harry's damaged goods, anyway?

“Screw Zayn and Anna,” Louis said, oatmeal-brimming spoon jutting to Harry. The box was high enough for his feet to hover the ground. But then, Harry had always been taller. “All these complaints but have we ever heard Niall – once, just _once_ – distress over Babysitting? I think not.”

Babysitting with the capital B, of course. The feline had given her adieu to Harry with awls and howls when Harry as much as considered the words “moving” and “cage”. She had conflicted with Nick's dog, which was when Niall offered to take her in. Said he could do with a few chewed-on assignments.

Louis seemed to have a revelation by the kitchen table. “That's his lucky charm. It's not alcoholic persistance, it's cat-watching.”

Harry's lips folded around the jutting spoon, sucking off all oatmeal. Louis watched him with rapture.

“I love it when you eat,” Louis said and held up another spoon to his mouth.

Grinning, Harry rejected it. Blueberries and raspberries fought in his own bowl. Its taste rotted his teeth while appealing to dine limitlessly. Had they already packed toothbrushes and paste? He tried locating the toiletry bag in the ruckus to no avail. Perhaps nicotine gum would suffice until they unpacked in the flat.

“What are you thinking about?”

It was too cliché to deserve an honest answer, still Harry said, “Brushing my teeth.”

Louis finished up his bowl, dropped it unceremoniously in the sink.

“Ever the poet,” he said, hand brushing through Harry's outgrown locks. And just like that, he had vanished into the carboard cluster.

Harry took his time to eat. Once he was finished he detoured to the balcony. On the street, Anna was arguing with one of the movers in gestures to vehicles and Zayn, who embellished the Toyota's battered hood with ripped jeans and greased hands. He sat in a light twenty-degree slope with two of the wheels up on the curb.

The thrum of their voices reached the balcony in place of actual words. Lavender flourished in a cracked pot jackknifing off the railing. Safely below it on the floor, a barshel of mint. Harry plucked one of its leaves to suckle on. The buildings were too steep to become mirrors of the sun but light drenched the flats at both ends of the narrow one-way street. Some of the light scattered onto Anna and the mover, slicking up the hood and Zayn's hair, highlighting the rings on their fingers.

Harry didn't call for them. Another stack of boxes swayed out to them from inside the building. Beneath them, Louis tried to straighten up, probably to keep from panting, until the mover packed them in the truck. He glanced up and caught Harry's eye. With an eager gesture Harry couldn't decipher, he hurried back inside.

A moment later, Louis emerged behind him, swallowing wheezes.

“Love of my life,” Louis lilted. His warm hands hovered Harry's hips while he peered over Harry's shoulder. Zayn waved up to them. Somewhere was the scent of barbecue and coal.

“Shut up.”

“I will not. It’s true.”

Harry handed him a leaf. Louis accepted it and nicked a stalk of lavender to crumble it over the railing. Both watched the purple crowns waft away.

“I've actually been thinking about the future,” Harry said.

Louis made an impressed hum.

“Isn't a joint flat enough?” he said.

Harry shook his head. “Further ahead. Not next month.”

“Where to grow old? Where to hoard our kids?”

If Harry hadn't been serious about the idea, he would have snorted. Now when he turned around to the cocoon of Louis' body, it was no longer a mere image in his head; it was a possibility. It was comforting instead of scary. Something real, something certain.

He resisted looping his arms around Louis' neck, knowing he wouldn't be able to let go. Minty breath hit his cheek.

He said, “I was thinking a cabin. Overlooking the water perhaps. Two bedrooms. In case we ever—yeah.”

Louis smiled, dauntless, excited by the prospect.

“Good choice.”

They walked back into the flat, closing the door, and headed down to Zayn and Anna by the loaded truck.

Harry hadn't thought about Liam Payne for weeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. It's getting cold these days has officially come to an end. It's been almost a year since the two of us took this on as a joint fic, and about three in total since the idea was created. We are both incredibly proud of IGCTD and how it turned out, and we hope you enjoyed every bit of it as much as we both did.
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments and for your patience during some tough update schedules as we struggled through school. IGCTD... this fic was truly a gem to write and we're still in disbelief that we're here, at the end. This fic meant a lot to both of us and we couldn't be prouder of the finished outcome.
> 
> If you choose to stick with us, there will be more Team Vace projects in the future that we hope you enjoy (and that we will, too) as much as It's getting cold these days.
> 
> \- Grace and Veronica x


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